


End Transmission

by CyanideStungun



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Humor, M/M, Zombie AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyanideStungun/pseuds/CyanideStungun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an unknown disease starts to turn people into flesh-eating walking dead while they’re away at college, Scott and Stiles have to find a way back to Beacon Hills without getting themselves killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goodbye and Say Hello to the End of the World (Boston)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First big fic posting for the fandom and I'm kind of excited for this. Beta'd by my two lovely friends Chelsea and Shlala. A small mention of suicide and then the obvious blood and gore that comes along with fighting zombies. So onto the fic. Enjoy!

Three and a half months ago was the last time that anything was legitimately normal. Three and a half months ago, no one was out there trying to eat anyone else’s face, arms, or legs off. Three and a half months ago, Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall had thought the zombie apocalypse was simply a joke and any preparations they made were for their own amusement.

Now… they were living in it. And they were glad for all the things they did in the name of fun.

It all started in the fall of their junior year in college. Best friends from diapers on up, they’d both gotten into schools in Boston, mostly because that’s where they’d both wanted to go to their respective school but also partially because they didn’t want to be separated. For two years they attended school in Boston and went home to Beacon Hills for breaks. However, over the past summer they’d found admittedly shitty jobs, but jobs nonetheless and while employed, they had gotten an apartment together. The beginning of their official adult lives, another milestone met head on as best friends. And then this shit went down.

Sometimes, Stiles felt bitter that he was robbed of the whole adult experience. You know the one; getting tired of paying bills, buying groceries that didn’t include frozen dinners and junk, actually fixing the plumbing after flooding the kitchen instead of pulling out a roll of duct tape, having to buy your own clothes instead of waiting for Christmas and birthdays because your Aunts and Grandmothers always send enough underwear and your father _finally_ knows your style of clothing.

Not having to worry about said _sheriff_ father catching you super drunk when you come home to pass out because you were only twenty and shouldn’t have been drinking at all. Okay, so maybe that experience he’d done every weekend in college so he was over the not having to sneak part, because seriously, sneaking around was half the fun.

Other times, Stiles looked at all the things he had done since the beginning of all this mess and thought, fuck adult experience, this shit was way better. In an “I hope I don’t get my face eaten today” sort of way. Which is admittedly not the best way to live, but what can a guy do in the midst of the zombie apocalypse?

He and Scott had only had their apartment about two months before the outbreak happened and they were forced into the strict rules of containment to the city of Boston, which put a serious damper on all activities. At first, their community – and the whole country for that matter – didn’t know what was going on. The government released very little information as the government was wont to do, and they thought it was something like the swine flu scare from years back. But with each passing day the security got tighter, and as security grew tighter, more news leaked in from the surrounding cities and states.

A virus had gotten out and initially, scientists and doctors were baffled by it, not sure what to make of it. Seemingly healthy people began to deteriorate rapidly, their bodies shutting down as they literally began to decay alive, but even as everything seemed to indicate imminent death, the infected continued to go on. Not live, per say, but just keep going. And along with the skin rotting from their bones and generally looking like they would fall apart, they also developed the lovely side effect of an insatiable craving for human flesh.

Which they attempted to curb by eating the closest living person with no remorse.

There was no reasoning with those who were infected, they were as good as dead and if you were bit, you had a few hours - at the most - to say goodbye before you became part of the hungering hoards. That’s if you only got bit; if you got bit and caught, you had a few _minutes_ tops before more of the zombies descended upon your helpless body and began to eat you.

The first report Stiles heard about the virus, he thought he’d ended up tuned into the _Night of the Living_ Dead. It sounded a lot like the broadcast and for the rest of the day all he could hear in his head was “in all cases the killers are eating the flesh of the people they murdered”. He also spent the rest of the day in a mild panic because _fuck man,_ zombies weren’t supposed to be real. Not even all the Adderall he took could make him focus on any of his schoolwork.

Despite the widespread panic, the government tried to maintain a semblance of normality in the country, saying they had it under control and it wouldn’t spread any further than the already affected states. To start, they quarantined the previously mentioned states where the virus had hit but another piece of information they never released, along with how many were infected, was the precise location of the start of this everything. Though whether that was due to them being unaware of the starting point or not was unclear. Once it seemed like simple quarantining wasn’t going to work, travel between states was severely restricted before being eliminated altogether and eventually the larger cities were forced into self containment, no one coming in or going out with the exception of government run supply trucks.

People were told to go on with their lives as normal, though that was easier said than done. Everywhere you turned, people were taking precautions to protect themselves; wearing cloth and disposable masks over their faces, donning protective clothing, using excessive amounts of hand sanitizer and looking scandalized any time they came into contact with anyone else.

However their precautions were things that would do nothing to save them if they did come in contact with the infected; Stiles knew this because as soon as he had heard about the disease, he did all the research he could, even forgetting a paper until ten minutes prior to class. He immediately shared all his research with Scott, because it would suck if his best friend slash roommate got infected. From what they knew, the virus wasn’t airborne, it was through the mixing of bodily fluids, most commonly being bit; you know, the whole saliva in the wound thing. So other than making sure not to getting bitten, so as long as you didn’t go pouring someone else’s blood into an open wound or having sex willy nilly, you were good there.

Stiles had never been gladder to be an unappealing nerd than he was after discovering this fact. Seriously. If he had people trying to sleep with him left and right like the popular guys at school, he might as well shove his arm in a zombie’s mouth. As it stood, he was barely a step above virgin. But he wasn’t a virgin and that was a positive because dying a virgin would have _sucked_.

Of course, the longer the containment and isolation from other sources went, the more scarce supplies became which quickly led to the implementing of rationing. Luckily, Scott and Stiles were typical college students and their cupboards were already stocked to the brim with the sort of food that they didn’t have to worry about going bad. There was enough ramen, boxed mac n’ cheese, canned chili, and soda to last them a long while. They even had a full supply of junk food and frozen food, and while everyone expected the epidemic to be under control soon, they took no chances and kept a secret stash of the non-perishable foods, just in case. They were part of the “preparing for apocalypse” generation, after all, and that may have been just the thing to save them.

The crazy idea of containment worked to keep the sickness from invading for all of one month in the city of Boston. Not even. Three weeks and a couple days. The middle of the fourth week, shit went down in a bad way. Someone was infected. No one knew how it happened or where even, but they were and they were in the city. A crew put together for containment of the illness managed to quarantine the person, and several others who would later turn out to be afflicted.

After the scare, strict curfews were enforced and the number of allowed movements through the city cut back, but still, life went on. Everyone was on edge but most people didn’t want to let anything more scare them into hiding. When the city officials said they had rounded everyone up and gotten them out of the city, all the remaining citizens breathed a sigh of relief and it looked like things would be alright.

It wasn’t until the day an infected slipped through the cracks unnoticed, that things got serious. And right on Stiles’s campus, in his lecture hall, he got to witness first hand just what it was like for someone to turn. It was about a week or so since the first infected had arrived in the city. The girl had come in with a mask on, like many others did so it wasn’t really out of the ordinary. She’d sat down and pulled her supplies out, ready for the three hour long evening class. They had an exam the next week, so everyone who hadn’t already dropped out was in class to take down the study notes in an attempt not to fail out of the class. The teacher always waited until the last hour to give the aforementioned notes in order to keep the students there and not have them running out before lecture was over.

Half way through class, Stiles noticed the girl didn’t look so well; she was hunched over her desk, shoulders shaking slightly. With a concerned frown, he leaned over his row to hers, just to ask if she was alright in a low whisper. She nodded; giving what he assumed was a weak smile behind the mask before turning back to her notes. It wasn’t until the professor began outlining what to study that it actually went down.

One minute she was coughing quietly, then the next there was blood all over the front of her mask and she started gagging, almost as if she were going to throw up. She ripped the mask off, choking hard while more blood splattered on the floor. Everyone was moving away from her, including Stiles, unsure what to do.

One boy, an aspiring medical student, took a chance in approaching her and that’s when shit really hit the fan. With exceptional reflexes, the girl reached out, grabbing his arm and sinking bloody teeth into his arm as he let out a pained scream, too shocked to pull away immediately. It was that shocked hesitation that gave her the opening and after another moment, she was ripping flesh and muscle away, chewing. Stiles almost threw up from the site and sounds of her eating _another human’s flesh_. But even without that very obvious clue, there were also the sores that seemed to have just appeared on her skin that made him completely certain. It was in that moment Stiles knew exactly what was happening and he wasn’t going to stick around for the inevitable.

“Everyone get the fuck out of here! She’s infected!” He yelled, grabbing his backpack and pulling it over his shoulder as he practically jumped over a row or two to get to the stairs at the side, taking them two of three at a time just to get to the door first.

He was out the door and down the hall running, hearing more screams from the room behind him but not stopping or turning around to look back. That would be stupid and he’d seen enough horror movies to know that turning around meant death. Even if it was just one girl infected right now – and that poor bitten kid – he wasn’t taking any chances. Instead, he was dialing Scott, hoping his friend would answer and not just hit ignore like he’d done a million times before. A few rings and he got a hushed voice.

“Dude, I’m working…. Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“Fuck class. It’s here. That… whatever it is… Virus, disease. It’s here. I just saw this chick fully freak out and she bit a guy and… Fuck! Dude! We’ve got to do something! _She was fucking eating him!_ ”

“Just calm down! Are you okay?! Did she bite you or anything?!”

“No. Fuck. I’m okay. Fuuuuuck.”

“Go home. I’ll be there in twenty.”

Stiles pressed himself up into a little nook in the hall, head leaned back against the wall as he spoke to Scott and caught his breath. Hearing screams from the direction he’d just ran in, he looked up just in time to see some girls ran past him and there was blood on them, but he didn’t know if it was their own or someone else’s. Shit. “Hurry, dude. Please.”

And with that, Stiles hung up, taking off in a dead sprint for his bike as he avoided everyone gathering in the halls to check the commotion, glad that his apartment was only a few blocks down. Grabbing the bike, he jumped on and sped off, pedaling harder than he had ever before. Oh how he wished for his jeep, but she’d been benched for the semester, back home in Beacon Hills for repair because towing her cross country to get repaired would have been stupid. Getting home in almost no time, he was just about to throw his bike down outside, but after a moment, thought better of it and carried it inside. It was, as of the moment, his only means of transportation.

                It was closer to forty five minutes when Scott finally arrived home, but he was in one piece and Stiles threw his arms around his friend, breathing hard and shaking. Scott hadn’t even experienced it in person and he looked pale in the face as he embraced his friend. Without pulling much apart, they move to sit to together on the couch. They didn’t move for a long time, turning the TV on to find the news playing no matter what channel really; people were panicking as more and more infected were coming out of the woodwork, biting others, eating flesh. The two could only watch in horror as the story played out on the screen as well as just outside their window. At one point, Stiles almost threw the remote through the screen because it was just horrific and he didn’t want to see it anymore. After that, they put on a movie and fell asleep on the couch, too scared to go to their individual rooms.

Containment crews were sent in to try and round up those bitten as well as those who had already succumbed to the disease. It took the rest of week in that first month and well into the first week of the second month for those fighting the diseased to “win”. And even then, it was another full week before the clean up was complete and they were approved to leave their home. That was the day Stiles started carrying around his old baseball bat from intramurals. Scott didn’t have any sports equipment to use as weapons – lacrosse sticks weren’t nearly as damaging as a metal bat – so he settled on a hammer for now, keeping it tucked in his belt loop.

They soon found out that actual weapons were hard to come by because of the tight security and the string of suicides by gun, along with an increase in crime during the madness, so they made do with their weapons and rarely went out without the other.

With the outbreak in the city quote-unquote _handled_ , things went back to the locked down, controlled norm Stiles and Scott had grown accustomed to. Security was up and it looked like there was a whole slew of new cops standing around town, or patrolling the streets. While everyone else thought it made them feel safer knowing they had constant monitoring of the city, Stiles just felt uneasy. The sight of cops everywhere was foreboding, almost as if they knew what was coming but weren’t about to tell the civilians anything.

If nothing else, it reminded him of the days back home where he knew each and every move the police and sheriff departments made, thanks to being the sheriff’s kid. Being in the dark did not suit him one bit, and while he scrounged for information, it seemed even scarcer than previously. But they made do, and for the next week and a half, everything seemed to be fine. Maybe even looking on the up and up.

And then one morning, Stiles woke up and everything just felt…. Wrong. He slid out of bed, grabbing his bat and quickly going down the hall to Scott’s room to find his friend sitting up in bed, staring out the window with a frown. Stiles quickly clambered into Scott’s bed beside him without a word and the two sat wrapped up in Scott’s comforter like they hadn’t done since elementary school, just watching and waiting for whatever was coming to happen.

Outside was mysteriously calm, which should have been the first clue; rarely a car drove down their street and there were even less pedestrians. Neither was inclined to move to turn the TV on so they had no idea if there was a restriction on leaving the home put in place, but they weren’t going outside regardless. Beside the conspicuous lack of people, it was a beautiful sunny day that contradicted the feeling of dread and foreboding in the air, which made what happened next all the scarier.

It started at around one in the afternoon. A shrill screaming pierced the eerie silence outside. They both tumbled out of the bed, running for the window just in time to see a woman running down the street, and if the dark stain on her yellow shirt was any indicator, she was injured. It didn’t take long for the culprits to appear; a group of three decaying women in business suits were running after her at fast speeds, especially for ladies in heels and the one who’s entire left leg seemed to be twisted backwards.

Scott and Stiles exchanged equally terrified looks before going to shove their couch up against their door, and Stiles’s bookcase in front of the window that had the fire escape on it. Taking up their weapons, they climbed back into Scott’s bed, watching out the window as chaos descended on the city. There wasn’t anything else to do and they had to be prepared for what would come, even if that meant watching the infected chase the healthy.

It obviously wasn't the best plan, because every noise in their apartment made them jump, every scream from outside – or sometimes it sounded like inside on different floors – made them nervous. At one point, there was banging at their front door; someone in a panic screaming about needed bandages. They didn't knock for too long before running off to another door and Scott and Stiles exchanged guilty looks but this was about self-preservation and each other's safety. There wasn't a whole lot of room for helping complete strangers out.

They continued to watch the madness unfold, the flicker of fires in the distance and sirens as fire departments, ambulances, and containment squads alike zoomed through the city. Neither left the cocoon of blankets except to use the bathroom across the hall, and then the other would follow and stand watch outside the door; no action seemed too paranoid or too cautious. It wasn't until night fell that they realized they had literally sat there the entire day, but still they didn't move. They took turns sleeping, because it just felt safer that way, even though neither Scott nor Stiles felt rested after they'd slept. 

As the next morning broke, it seemed like everything had mostly calmed down outside, but it was unspoken that they weren't leaving the apartment that day either. The electricity was still working, which seemed to be a good thing for now and they moved themselves to the living room after blocking Scott's window off; just in case because even though they were on the sixth floor, you could never be too careful. News reports on every channel talked about the sudden outbreak in Boston and things looked bleak. Sitting back to back on the couch, the two twenty year old males clutched their weapons and listened to the reports for hours before Stiles finally stood, disappearing into the kitchen and coming back with two frozen dinners.

"Might as well eat them while we still can." He said, though he wasn't hungry and he suspected Scott wasn't either by the way he picked at the food. But it was something to do.

Something to do outside of sitting and listening to the screams or the reports on the television or really anything to do with the madness outside. It was halfway through the fifth day of being locked in their apartment that a shocking news report came in. Something they had never thought they’d hear.

Stiles was eating a bowl of Cocoa Puffs while they still had milk and Scott was doing something odd like counting how many more days he could go before he had no clean underwear. The TV, like always, was on and droning on about the situation. Even the words “Breaking News” weren’t anything to make them do anything more than tune back into the anchor’s voice.

Both boys glanced to the TV, ready for it to tell them something else that would be wholly unhelpful to the two of them stuck in this apartment.

“ _We have reports now saying that if you encounter an infected person, you can and are highly encouraged to use whatever force necessary to terminate them. Containment Crews are unable to keep up with the sheer numbers and if you are able to do so without infecting yourself, execute the contaminated in order to protect the unaffected.”_

Scott stared wide-eyed at the screen before looking at Stiles. “They just….”

“Oh my god, do they even realize how many people are going to end up killing others and blaming it on this shit?!”

“Dude… that’s only _if_ there’s anyone else left.”

Stiles fell silent for the moment; they hadn’t heard any sirens for the last two days and any screaming at all today. “Still… it’s just…”

“I know, dude. _I know._ ”

It had been a full week before either of them ventured out of the apartment. They’d been cooped up for far too long, and it had been days since they’d heard or seen any signs of zombie life outside their window.

The halls of their apartment building were unsurprisingly empty as they walked out, Stiles holding his bat by his side and Scott clutching his hammer. It was a mark of the tension that Stiles didn’t make any crack about Scott’s choice in weapon as they exited onto the street.

They’d seen what it’d looked like from their window, but on the ground level it was even worse. There were bodies, or parts of bodies, or blood stains where bodies _had_ been. Cars were crashed into buildings and other cars, abandoned in favor of trying to outrun the bloodthirsty and fleshhungry creatures.

The two of them climbed into Scott’s SUV which was, by the grace of whatever deity, relatively unharmed. Driving down the street was slow going as they stared out the windows at the destruction on the street. But even more terrifying than all the wreckage and chaos were the parts of the neighborhood that looked normal and untouched, just so very _empty_.

Arriving at the little grocery store they frequented, Stiles climbed out first with his bat raised, looking around before walking to the door and trying it. When it opened easily, Scott followed, locking the vehicle behind him.

“Really, Scott? Who is going to come and steal your car?”

“Shut up. We don’t know who’s around and I am not being stuck without transportation.”

“It’s a piece of shit anyway.”

“Fuck you, your jeep isn’t any better.”

“ _Hey!_ Low blow, bro, low blow!”

At least their ability to banter mindlessly hadn’t been too affected.

They walked through the store, finding everything in place like it usually was, except the cheerful owner was nowhere in sight, her husband wasn’t at the meat counter, their teenage daughter wasn’t sweeping with a frown on her face, and their son – who was in some of Scott’s classes – wasn’t hitting on some woman by the register.

To be sure, they checked the backrooms as well, seeing no sign of the family, before Scott nudged Stiles out and the two started to grab whatever non-perishables they could get from the empty selection; the store hadn’t been well stocked in months but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

After bagging up their “purchases” – they left a note for the family, just in case – they headed for the door. Not much point in staying out if they didn’t have to. That’s when they heard it; the sound of footsteps and heavy breathing, then a wild shriek that didn’t sound human.

“Go!” Stiles shrieked, not needing to look back but doing so anyway; it was horrifying to see someone who had turned this close up – the girl in his class hadn’t been this bad yet when he’d run out –  and he shoved Scott, all but flailing after him toward the doors.

“I’m going!” Scott yelled back, the two of them racing for the car while the former-human-now-flesh-eater ran at them. In his panic, he could barely get his keys out of his pocket.

What happened next went by so fast that Stiles wouldn’t be able to give an accurate account of what happened later even if anyone had asked. One moment they were at the car, Scott trying frantically to liberate his keys, the next, the bags Stiles held were scattered at his feet and he was lifting his bat, swinging as hard as he could.

There was a sickening thud as he made contact with the zombie’s face and it fell to the ground. Everything was still for a moment until the thing on the ground moved and with a shriek Stiles brought the bat down over its head once more. He dropped the bat, stepping back with wide eyes, every fiber of his tall, lanky frame shaking violently.

Looking back at Scott, who looked equally pale and shaky, he managed to yell at him to open the doors. It wasn’t until they’d scrambled into the car and sped off down the street, not taking their time like they had earlier, that everything started to hit Stiles.

He’d just killed someone. Killed a person. A loud, hysterical laugh bubbled its way out of his throat and Scott all but slammed on the brakes, startled by it. Luckily, they were right in front of their apartment building by then and fuck, he didn’t care as he parked on the sidewalk.

“Stiles… Stiles, no. Come on man, we have to get inside.” Scott pleaded, grabbing the bags he’d managed to hold onto before climbing out and running to the passenger side. In the end, he had to half carry half drag Stiles inside and up six flights of stairs.

He got them inside and Stiles onto the couch before the taller boy started to heave and gulp for air, grasping at his shirt over his chest. Scott recognized it as a panic attack, and he had never been too sure how to handle those despite having known Stiles since he first started getting them. But now was especially not a good time for him to try and handle this, and he sat on Stiles’s legs, grabbing his best friend’s face in his hands.

“Stiles! You gotta breathe! You gotta calm the fuck down.” Scott yelled, giving him a little shake, but Stiles was still panicking and not focusing, so Scott did the first thing that came to mind. Raising his hand up, he slapped Stiles straight across the face, the sound echoing in the silent apartment.

It may not have been the best way, but it worked as Stiles turned to stare up at Scott, finally sucking in a full breath. Scott nodded, patting Stiles’s chest and taking deep, visible breaths for Stiles to match.

They did this for ten, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes before they were both stable at least, and then Scott stood to push the dresser they were using as a barrier back in front of the door, leaving Stiles to continue breathing in and out on the couch. After a moment, Scott came back and pressed a bottle of whiskey into his friend’s hands, lifting his legs and sitting down with them in his lap.

“Did you really tell me to calm the fuck down and then slap me while I was having a panic attack?” Stiles asked weakly.

“Yea…”

“Dude… you’re the worst at comforting someone _ever_.”

“I gave you whiskey.”

“That… so doesn’t count.”

“Yes it does. Now drink.”

The two spent the rest of the day and night drinking, and every time Stiles seemed on the verge of hysterics, Scott would push the bottle to him again; not the best idea considering Stilinski family history but neither of them was prepared to deal with the imminent and looming conversation yet. The conversation where Stiles would freak out because he _killed_ someone and Scott would have to remind him that that someone wasn’t a someone anymore and anyway, the not-someone was going to _eat_ them so it was self-defense.

That talk would come a couple days later before they tried venturing out again; the electricity was out by now, and they were evidently missing candles as well as batteries for flashlights and radios. They knew what was out there now and what they’d have to do to stay safe. So armed with Scott’s hammer and a couple legs broken off an old side table to replace Stiles’s dropped bat, they headed out.

First stop had been a convenience store, grabbing the remainders of candles – which Stiles whined about because they were all the shitty scents and Scott pelted him with a box of tampons because who cared what they smelled like – and whatever else they could before hauling tail to the car again. The next stop was the Dick’s Sporting Good, because Stiles knew there was a gun section and even if that section were empty, they’d find at least something better than “the mighty Mjölnir” and their crappy table legs in the remainder of the store.

What they came away with was an armful of metal bats – “Any ammo we find isn’t gonna last forever, Scott.” – a huge storage container of ammo – “Yea, but this’ll last us a long time, Stiles.” – several guns, and a healthy disgust for the store manager who’d locked himself in the office with the weapons while he listened to the screams of his employees being eaten outside – the frantically scribbled note on the desk had told them that much, though the manager was nowhere to be seen and the office door had been torn off its hinges.

Karma.

One last sweep of the backroom, wielding a bat each after storing their new weaponry in the car, and they added some decent sized flashlights to the pile prior to heading home. They’d go scavenging again the next day, and the day after that as well. It’d be three days from then when Scott would shoot his first zombie, and another day before Stiles gave Scott the same pep talk that Scott gave him.

And then suddenly, it became a regular routine. Their days were spent gathering all the supplies and weapons they could find, their nights were spent huddled together, sleeping in shifts and checking all the stations on the radio for news. Some days they looked for other survivors – finding none – and other days were spent just planning. Planning on what they were going to do, when they were going to leave, how they were going to get out of here, and where they’d be going.

If anyone had asked them later, Scott and Stiles would have been able to tell them that it only took two weeks of living this life for any hesitation in killing the zombies to dissipate. They still felt guilt, because they both knew the moment they stopped caring about killing, they would have lost themselves. But the guilt was somewhat assuaged by their continued survival and a whole lot of whiskey.

It took about four weeks – four weeks of planning, of a regular routine of scavenging, of looking for survivors, and of killing zombies – before they’d started to pack up Scott’s SUV. The AM stations they could faintly pick up suggested that Pittsburgh had a safe zone still and to hell with staying in this dead city if there was potential for safety with other non-infected humans.  They worked quickly and efficiently, putting everything into the SUV and without so much as a goodbye to the city they’d considered a second home, they left, glad to put it in their rearview.

Stiles sat in the passenger seat, long legs up on the dashboard as he reclined in his seat. “Alright, so according to the internet and my beautiful, beautiful smart phone with its car charger… the drive to Pittsburgh is about ten hours. So we can split it up five and five, or however you want.”

“Five and five is good. Hey… you got that notebook, right? Write down the directions… just in case.”

“Good call. Who knows when the internet gods will taketh their blessings away… -eth.”

Quickly scribbling down the exact directions along with mile amounts and such, Stiles tucked his phone away and pulled his iPod out. They’d tried all the FM stations and there was nothing on but static. That did not work for Stiles as he most certainly was _not_ going to sit without music for the next ten hours, though if he wanted to he could easily fill the silence with chatter. But he suspected Scott would punch him about three hours in if he tried. Plugging the iPod into the other port in his USB car charger, he hooked it up to Scott’s radio and hit shuffle; he’d make an apocalypse playlist some other time.

For the first instance in three and a half months, things were looking up for the two of them. That is, until they came upon their first section of the roads that was backed up with cars, looking like everyone had just decided this stretch of road would be a perfect parking lot. It was eerie and unsettling, to say the least, as well as a huge ass inconvenience and the way the highway was separated by trees in the middle, meant having to find another way around the cars.

And that was how they discovered that the “simple” ten hour drive was going to be a lot longer than just ten hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has begun to take on a life of its own, seriously. It started out as a silly little idea and it's rapidly growing and who knows how much it'll grow by the end! Thanks again to Chels and Shlala, who are so awesome for helping me make this the best it could be.


	2. A Bunch of Holes Where the Dead Used to Be Underground (Boston to Pittsburgh)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Look at this! Chapter 2 already! Since I posted chapter 1-3 on my Tumblr previously, I didn't think it made sense to space them out longer than a day apart.
> 
> Once again thanks to my wonderful betas Chelsea and Shlala. Chances are that if there's a really hilarious moment in dialogue, the ideas for that got bounced back and forth between Shlala and me. Pretty much everything I want to include in this fic gets run passed Shlala first and if I get a good reaction to it, it goes into the story.

For the next twelve hours, Scott and Stiles made their way slowly through the states, stopping only a few times to switch drivers, siphon some gas from abandoned cars, or take a leak on the side of the road. Twelve hours took them through Massachusetts, Connecticut, that little corner of New York, and all the way to Scranton, Pennsylvania before Scott’s poor little SUV decided it had had enough and needed a break.

“Of course your piece of shit dies on us. Jesus, Scott. If we had my jeep we probably would’ve been home by now.” Stiles grumbled, climbing out of the passenger seat of the SUV as Scott got out of the driver’s side.

“You’re _really_ not helping right now, Stiles.” Scott said, popping the hood and peering in, but he didn’t look too confident in what he was looking for. Or even what he’d do once he figured out what the problem was.

Stiles stood to the side for a minute, leaning on his ever present baseball bat like a cane and crossing his legs, giving Scott a minute or two before pushing the other male out of the way and taking a look for himself. Another few minutes and he’d gotten it figured out as well as noting a couple other things that could potentially go wrong if left in that condition. “Okay, I know what the problem is and luckily we’re not too fucked. If I can jerry-rig this piece over here, we should be able to make it further into the city and either get the part we need or find a new car to take.”

He pulled back to look at the mess of wrecked cars littering the sides of the road; if only the SUV had died on a less desolate stretch, they could have just found a car but all of these were wrecked in some way or another. “I might be able to use something from one of these.”

Scott stepped back from staring under the hood, looking around as well then nodding and making a gesture with a wave of his hand, “Well it doesn’t seem like we’ll have any company so… go for it.”

“You could help, jackass.”

“And you could be nicer about my car.”

“Oh whatever, you used to think it was a piece of shit too!”

“That was before she saved our lives like hundreds of times!”

Stiles scoffed, waving Scott off as he approached the closest not completely trashed looking car. “She’s only saved us like, a maximum of fifty times.”

“Still! She’s part of this motley crew, and I’m not abandoning her or letting you talk shit about my baby.”

Trying to lift the hood on a car and having no luck despite the way the hood was lifted a little due to the crumpled front end, Stiles went to the driver’s door which was, of course, locked. Seriously? In the middle of the zombie apocalypse who took the freaking time to lock up their car? Especially after crashing it and banging it up.

“Not even the zombies would want your crap car, dude.” He muttered to himself because the owner of said crap car was probably dead and eaten by now. Raising his voice to talk to Scott while he checked the other doors, he called back. “All I’m saying is if we find a better car, we’re taking it.”

When none of the other doors were unlocked either, Stiles lifted his bat, smashing the window and pulling the lock up with a satisfied grin. That was before being startled as a loud, obnoxious alarm went off and made him jump like a foot in the air. Eyes wide, he tried to get the car to stop making the shrieking noise by re-locking it, looking back at Scott for help.

Which Scott did _not_ give. No help at all. Instead, he just stared back with big eyes as well. “ _Dude_. Make it stop! Before we attract any of those fuckers here!”

“Oh yea! Let me just pull out my remote to the car and turn it off… I’m fucking trying!” Stiles snapped, popping the hood and trying to find the right wires to pull to shut the alarm off. When he didn’t find any that seemed to do the trick, he simply took his bat to the inner workings, beating the shit out of the machine until it stopped wailing and he slumped against it, heart hammering in his chest. He rested for all of three seconds, however, before starting and flailing his way back to standing straight up with his bat raised, remembering to be on guard. In the words of Mad-Eye Moody, Constant vigilance! It was the only way they’d make it through this.

Scott raised his gun to ready as well, looking around suspiciously for any sign of movement, but it didn’t seem like anything was coming. _Yet_. Hopefully they’d be well on their way before any of those monsters arrived, because if there were any in the nearby, they definitely would come to investigate after that commotion.

Quickly turning back to the car, Stiles hurried to find the part he needed to fix Scott’s SUV. He removed it as carefully as possible, glad his little freak out hadn’t damaged it. That would have been the icing on the cake for that embarrassing moment. He crossed the road back to Scott’s car, grabbing a toolkit they’d ganked from a broken down tow truck about three hours previously from the backseat and setting to work, hoping this would do the trick. It took him about ten minutes of precious time but he finally got the piece in place and told Scott to start her up.

The other male slid into the driver’s seat, skeptically turning the key. As soon as the engine revved to life once more, Stiles let out a little whoop, doing a victory dance in front of the SUV. “Who da man?! I’m da man! Oh yeah!”

“Okay, good, fine… Can “Da Man” get back in the car so we don’t get eaten by “Da Zombies”?” Scott asked curtly, sticking his head out the window and looking around nervously.

Stiles made a very immature face at his friend before speeding through the rest of his victory dance and closing the hood with a satisfying slam. Climbing into the passenger seat then buckling himself in, he turned to Scott. “Alright, driver, let’s go. We’ve still got like, twelve hour’s worth of driving to get through the last five hours to Pittsburgh. Fucking apocalypse traffic.”

Rolling his eyes, Scott eased onto the gas pedal and they were off again. No more than ten minutes after they’d started driving, he looked into the rear view mirror. “Dude, you must have fixed it just in time. Look back.”

He nudged Stiles, who shifted to turn all the way around in his seat and see three mangled and bloodied bodies, running after the car as best as their degenerating limbs would allow. With an amused snort, Stiles shook his head, turning back around and settling into his seat. They were safe in the car because so far as he knew, zombies couldn’t catch up to or outrun cars. He was confident they’d be able to get away unscathed from this, reach Pittsburgh and the survivor colony, and then be on their way back home.

He was completely confident in all of this, that is, until Scott spoke.

“Finally. Something going right for us. Dude, that could’ve been so much worse.”

Stiles turned his head in an overly dramatic manner to look at his friend in wide-eyed, slack-jawed horror, “No… Dude. _Dude_. How could you? How could you break the number one horror film rule! You’ve just damned us and our escape! You _never_ say it could’ve been worse!”

“What? Stiles, quit being ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with saying it could’ve been worse.” Scott said, rolling his eyes, but Stiles continued to look horrified and scandalized at the fact that his best friend, who he saw pretty much ever horror film ever with, broke the number one rule not once, but twice now!

His expression only worsened when, no later than ten minutes into their resumed drive, the vehicle once again sputtered to a stop before dying completely. Stiles groaned, turning to give Scott his suffering look.

“Scott… why… why would you say that?!” He asked, though he didn’t wait to hear the answer. The zombies weren’t in the rearview but that didn’t mean they weren’t going to catch up. He hurriedly dashed out of the car to look under the hood, fumbling with the piece again and swearing as he burned his fingers on the hot engine. However, a few burns wouldn’t matter because if he couldn’t get it started again, they were fucked.

The heat of the car’s insides were making it hard to work and he also didn’t need Scott’s constant commentary to know that the zombies were getting closer and closer and fuck! The piece wasn’t going back in right.

“Stiles! Hurry up!”

“Don’t you fucking tell me to hurry up you asshole, you’re the one who jinxed us!”

“ _Stiles!”_

Stiles gave a frustrated sound, twisting the piece and jamming the part in again, “Alright start her up!”

The engine roared to life once more and Stiles all but dove into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him. However, while the car may have started up, it most certainly wasn’t going anywhere no matter how hard Scott pressed on the gas pedal and the zombies were right fucking behind them.

“Any time now Scott!”

“I’m trying but she’s not doing anything!”

“Fuck fuck fuck shit man!” Stiles said, letting out a very manly high pitched shriek as a zombie slammed its hand on the window, trying to break it and get inside. Get inside and feast on their tasty, living and un-diseased flesh. Oh god, they were going to end up as meals on wheels and goddamn they hadn’t even made it a day after leaving their safehouse, how fucking pathetic was that?! Wasn’t there supposed to be some one week head start rule?!

It was only when Scott yelled at him to “Stop having a fucking breakdown” that Stiles realized he’d actually been outer-monologuing his inner monologue. Not the first time that’d happened, though. But Scott yelling at him made him snap back, glaring at his friend.

“If you would’ve just kept you goddamn mouth shut about “it could’ve been worse” and now it _is_ worse and we’re going to die!” Stiles said, “Meals on fucking Wheels, Scott!”

“Me?! You’re the one who said you could fix the car!” Scott said as the zombies swarmed aforementioned vehicle on both sides, making it rock back and forth. Grabbing his gun, he rolled his window down just enough to aim the weapon out, shooting the zombie right over his window before it could grab him. With the window clear, he shot the two on either side of the door, waiting until they were on the ground before rolling the window all the way down and shooting them each again. There were only about five of them _at_ the car currently, but more were coming and this was going to get ugly, fast.

“I did fix the car!” Stiles all but shrieked, blatantly ignoring Scott’s protests as he smashed straight through the window and into a zombie’s face with his bat, knocking the flesh-eater backwards. He accidentally took a second one out as he was clearing the shattered glass from the window frame so he could see better. “You just totally jinxed it!”

The two of them continued their bickering as more zombies approached, and even more arguing over who had fucked this up as they climbed out their windows to scramble to the top of the SUV. For the time being, they were at least out of range of the zombies approaching. Scott took out as many as he could at a distance with his gun while any of the ones who got too close earned a swing of the metal bat straight into their face or head or wherever Stiles could land a good hit.

For a moment it looks like they might just make it out of there unscathed, when a whole new swarm of undead came from the other direction and Stiles groaned. “Seriously?! Fucking seriously?! Where did they all come from?! Was there just a city of zombies _waiting_ for us?! Did someone send them a memo saying we were coming this way?! ‘Oh hey! Free snacks guys! Just look for the piece of shit SUV!’”

“Stiles, I’d _really_ appreciate it if you could not make these remarks and instead use that brain of yours to figure our way out of this!”

“Oh yes, let me just think up a magical solution to this shit show! Oh I know! I’ll detonate the bomb I’ve been keeping in the trunk for times like this! Or maybe I’ll throw some grenades I just _happen_ to have stashed somewhere! …Bro, we should get grenades.” Stiles said, swinging his bat hard enough to knock a zombie off the hood, cringing a little as her neck snapped and yet she still kept moving. It didn’t help that her long black hair made her look like something out of _The Ring_. For good measure he bashed her head in a few times before shoving her off the hood with a shudder. He was feeling pretty good about that kill, for certain, but of course that feeling wouldn’t last long.

“Fuck.” Scott cursed softly from behind him. The kind of tone of voice that means you know you’re screwed.

Stiles whipped his head around to look over his shoulder, “Fuck? What fuck?!”

“I’m out of bullets.”

“Out of-… did you not grab an extra clip?!”

“Of course I grabbed a fucking extra clip, Stiles! I just ran out!” He said, backing up so his back was pressed solidly against Stiles’s.

“Goddammit…” Stiles groaned, the two of them standing back to back on the middle of the SUV’s roof, at least fifteen zombies coming toward the car and no way out of this. Royally fucked and there was only one thing left to do. “… Scott… you made my life more meaningful, man…”

He felt Scott turn to look back at him, before nodding. “Me too, dude. I couldn’t’ve asked for a better best friend…”

“Maybe we can stay best friends as zombies… if, you know, they don’t totally dismember us while trying to eat our flesh.” He said, barely able to keep up shoving them all off the car as they attempted to climb it, which made it impossible to actually kill any of them with his bat.

“That’d be cool, I think I could deal with that… Best buds from diapers ‘til decay!”

“Totally… Hey, did we ever disprove that theory about movement?”

“Stiles… I don’t think standing completely still is going to stop them from attacking. They’re not sharks.”

“You never know-….” Stiles started to say, his voice being drowned out by the revving of an engine followed by gunfire. Out of reflex, he almost threw himself down onto the car but seeing as there were still zombies clinging to it… definitely a bad idea.

Luckily, the new noise attracted the attention of the living dead, who really were stupid creatures and many ran toward the car, getting bullets straight to the head for their effort. Which, luckily, left an opening for the two standing on the top of the SUV and Stiles wasted no time in taking, scrambling off the roof and into the car through the window. Grabbing a couple more of Scott’s spare clips and tossing them up to his friend, who luckily did _not_ fumble them as he jumped off next to Stiles, the two of them exchanged a nod before charging into battle once more.

The remainder of the fight happened in just mere minutes; the mysterious driver of the car was luring the zombies his way with the sounds of his engine while still shooting out the window, and Scott and Stiles continued to fight off the ones lingering by them.

“Who the fuck does that guy think he is, driving in here with a fucking _Camaro_?! Dean Winchester?!” Stiles asked right before shouting out “HOME RUN” as he slammed a zombie’s head clean off.

“Dude, there’s a hell of a difference between a 2010 Camaro and a ’67 Impala!” Scott yelled back, shooting a zombie coming at Stiles from the side.

“You know what I fucking mean!”

Scott didn’t respond, instead putting a bullet into the last zombie’s head and watching it drop then turning to Stiles. “Yea. I know what you mean.”

The two of them made sure there were no zombies left standing before they leaned against the side of the SUV, panting heavily and looking at the bodies on the ground around them. Scott stilled for a moment before depositing another bullet in one of their heads because he didn’t like the way it was looking at him. Which he said out loud before Stiles could ask whatever form of ‘why’ he was contemplating.

Staring at the unmoving body, Stiles slowly looked up at his best friend and after a small exchange of glances, they burst into borderline hysterical laughter, leaning against each other for support and reassurance that they were both still there.

“Fuck, that was close.”

“Oh my god… shit… We need to thank Mr. Winchester over there for saving our asses.”

“Dude, you think he’d be willing to drive us into Pittsburgh to get the parts or find a new car?”

“Couldn’t hurt to ask… Though I think asking for a ride to the nearest town would be easier.” Scott said with a shrug, glancing up to see the Camaro idling a little ways off still.

 “Yea but I’m still trying to abandon your crap car so Pittsburgh is a better option.” He said, ducking when Scott went to smack him. Lookingover at the vehicle as well, he raised an eyebrow. “He could at least drive over here and make sure all these fuckers are dead, if not to make sure _we’re_ okay.”

Letting out a snort, Scott shook his head, finally pushing off the car to go to the trunk for his ammo boxes, intent on reloading his emptied clips so he’d be ready for whatever hit next.

 “No, seriously, I mean… _we’d_ make sure _he_ was okay if we just saved his ass! It’s common courtesy.” Stiles asserted, following Scott to the trunk where he grabbed a rag and some disposable gloves, along with a bottle of spray disinfectant to clean the blood on his bat off.

Scott remained silent and just let Stiles continue to rant on for a couple minutes as he loaded his clips, glancing up and nodding back at the Camaro, which was starting to drive toward them. “He’s moving now. Maybe you can give him a piece of your mind when he gets up here, if he stops.”

“Oh I will.” Stiles said, nodding as he pulled the gloves on with a snap, holding his bat and spraying it down. He wiped the blood off with the rag, repeating the action twice to make sure no infected blood ended up staying with them. Tossing the rags to the side of the road along with the gloves, he made a face. “Dude, remind me to grab some disposable wipes or whatever at the next stop, because this shit takes too long…”

The two of them continued their conversation as the other car finally rolled up, and Stiles turned to the look at it, ready to give the guy a severe talking to as he leaned against his bat in a smugly jaunty manner. An expression which quickly fell off his face as the door opened and their mystery savior stepped out. The slackened grip on the bat had it slipping out from under Stiles’s palm and he almost face planted, jaw dropped as he stared.

Out of the Camaro stepped the very epitome of tall, dark, and handsome with the added bonus of just the right amount of scruff. And not only did the man have the face of a god but body to match. He was most definitely built, and his clothes just emphasized that to perfection. And then there was the leather jacket, because of COURSE he was wearing a leather jacket.

Scott looked over at Stiles, nudging him with an amused look. “Uh… dude… you may want to pick up your jaw.” He muttered.

But the other boy didn’t hear him, or if he did, he wasn’t about to respond. Instead, he just continued staring as the words fell from his mouth.

“Holy hell, let me be your angel in a dirty trenchcoat.”

 


	3. Maybe We Can Save Ourselves or Maybe We Won’t (Pittsburgh)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last of the previously posted chapters up at last! Once again beta'd by Chels and Shlala. Also, a lot of credit to Shlala for dialogue ideas. We end up just dialoguing as Scott and Stiles a lot, but you never know who's who. I'm quite pleased so far to see people reading this so, uh, keep it up and enjoy!

“Holy hell, let me be your angel in a dirty trenchcoat.”

“Dude… did you just…. You said you didn’t do that shipping shit!” Scott whined, nudging Stiles, who shoved him back.

“I don’t! All I’m saying is you don’t have to like something to see the goddamn chemistry, Scott.” 

"Stiles..."

"And if I'm Castiel, I get to ignore standard personal space rules and while I'm still not likely to get any - zombie apocalypse and all - I would still not mind being all up in that."

" _Stiles!"_

"I'm just telling you how it is..." 

Scott shook his head, glancing back up at the man. He was watching them with an unreadable expression – mostly due to the sunglasses covering his eyes – and leaning against his car, his hands shoved in his – of course leather – jacket pockets. Stiles looked up to watch him for a moment as well, before looking at Scott with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay so… do you think he’s going to try to kill us for our supplies or something? Because… it’d be a damn shame to have to kill someone that good looking… But maybe I could just bash his knees in if he tried… Wait, that sounded _really_ mafia…” He prattled on as he leaned over to pick up his bat, a grin spreading over his face at that thought. “ _Awesome._ ”

His head jolted up when he heard a scoff that didn’t come from Scott, so obviously either one of the zombies wasn’t as enthused as he was about potentially becoming a mafioso or it came from their new, strange savior. Who was still staring this way, so yea, obviously he had made the sound. Straightening back up, bat in hand, Stiles exchanged a look with Scott before speaking.

“Uh… so… hey there.” Stiles called out, turning to look at the guy and give him the ole Stilinski charm. “Thanks for the assist… really good timing.”

No response. Instead, the guy pushed off his car to stand and walk over to them. Stiles couldn’t help but grip his bat tighter, eyes flicking to the guys knees and then back to his face, mentally telling himself to keep calm. There were two of them and one of him. He probably wouldn’t even need to break knee caps today.

Luckily, Scott seemed just as tense and ready by his side as well, prepared to take action if necessary, so that was definitely a positive for them. But the way the guy walked –as if he _knew_ he could take both Stiles and Scott, probably at once – wasn’t helping their nerves.

“What the hell are you two doing out here?” The stranger asked as he stopped right in front of them, and wasn’t that just the rudest response Stiles had ever heard to a thank you. Actually, it wasn’t, but it was the rudest response to a thank you that he’d heard since the beginning of the apocalypse.

“Oh you know, just trying to get eaten alive or something because our lives were too dull to try and survive for.” Stiles snarked back, making an offended noise when Scott smacked him. If the other guy was going to be rude, why couldn’t he?

Scott ignored Stiles and his glaring in favor of speaking to the guy in a much nicer tone, “Our car broke down and we were trying to get it fixed or find another way to Pittsburgh.”

That was apparently the magic word as the guy’s eyes narrowed and his eyebrows did this fascinating dip as he frowned and glared. “What’s in Pittsburgh for you?”

Stiles took the moment to look up and study the guy’s face and stance; he was really glad he’d taken a deductive reasoning class in the same semester as that psychology class, because he was putting all the little clues together to figure out that this guy was heading to Pittsburgh as well and seemed a little defensive about it.

“Hey… if you’re going to Pittsburgh… We could totally team up. Or something. I mean, it took us twelve freaking hours to drive the distance it should have taken five, and unless you’re hiding someone in the trunk – you’re not, are you? – then you’re alone and it’ll take you at least twelve if not more because you probably can’t go off-roading in that – though it’s seriously a beautiful car – so we could take turns driving and-….”

The guy cut Stiles off with a serious look, before speaking gruffly. “I don’t do charity cases or ‘team up’s.”

“Oh come _on_. We’re stranded here.” Stiles said, ignoring the fact that it came out a lot whinier than he meant it to; they had almost got eaten, he thought he was allowed to whine a little. “I don’t even really know how to fix Scott’s piece of shit car.”

“Tough shit, kid.”

Stiles glared his most intimidating glare which, to be fair, wasn’t that intimidating. He hadn’t really changed all the much since high school which meant he was all flailing limbs, even when still. “If you don’t do charity cases, why did you save us then?”

“I wasn’t saving you, I was killing them.” The guy responded cooly, and Stiles really needed to put a name to this jerk’s face otherwise he was just going to mentally refer to him as LeatherJacketAsshole.

“Well you made sure not to hit us at all, believe me, I noticed.”

“Didn’t want to waste bullets.”

Stiles let out a frustrated sound as he threw his hands in the air; this guy had all the emotional range of a rock. Maybe an angry rock, from the way it seemed like his scowl was a permanent fixation. He was even pretty sure the guy had scowl lines on his face.

While Scott looked like he was trying to figure out a legitimate way to convince the guy to take them to Pittsburgh, Stiles was just trying to make some sort of break through with this guy when he suddenly blurted out.

“We’ve got candy and we’ll share it with you for a ride!”

Okay, so the guy _obviously_ didn’t know the first thing about bartering, since Stiles was offering up a very legitimate supply of theirs and a rare commodity, and LeatherJacketAsshole was turning around to go back to his car!

“Dude, isn’t the creepy older guy supposed to be the one luring us into the car with candy?”

“Really not helping, Scott.”

Stiles turned back to LeatherJacketAsshole – and okay that was a mouthful even in his mind so LJA – and spoke again, a little more rationally. “Look. We’ve got supplies. Like ammo… and uh… canned chili… ramen too.”

“Beef jerky!” Scott said, noting the way the other guy paused and quirked an eyebrow when he looked back at them; which was definitely legit because who didn’t like beef jerky outside of vegetarians and people with no teeth?

“Already mentioned the candy so telling you we’ve got chocolate is redundant… we’ve got a few bottles of whiskey.”

“ _Dude,_ don’t tell him about those.” Scott hissed; they had rightfully earned their whiskey and he didn’t want to share it.

Stiles looked at Scott, lowering his voice so LJA couldn’t hear. “It’s alright, he looks like a beer and tequila guy anyway.” Raising his voice again, he shifted, “Puh-lease, bro? We just want to get to Pittsburgh.”

“You never answered my question.” LJA said, “What’s in Pittsburgh for you?”

Sharing a glance with Stiles, Scott stepped forward a little, “We heard there was possibly a community of survivors. And we wanted to check it out.”

They both held their breath for a moment, watching as LJA studied them silently, and for a moment it looked like he was going to say no again, but then he was nodding, albeit reluctantly. “Alright. I’ll take you to Pittsburgh. But you’re on your own there.”

Stiles really had to fight the urge to shout and fist pump a little, because LJA didn’t look like the kind of guy to really appreciate such a big display of victory joy, so he simply gave his most dazzling smile. “Thanks, you’re really not going to regret this. This is like… a helluva lot of good karma coming down on you. So much. Like, you probably won’t get bitten for at least another month or two. So really, you won’t regret it!”

From the look on the other guy’s face, Scott was pretty sure he was already regretting it, but he didn’t voice that thought as he instead got right down to transferring their inventory to the other car before their ride decided to change his mind. It would be a snug fit for the time being, but it would be way better than leaving things behind and starving to death or running out of ammo.

Jumping in to help as well, Stiles started loading the food bins into the back seat; which was… surprisingly empty. Seriously? Where were the supplies? They couldn’t all fit in the trunk… could they? Maybe it was like the Weasley’s car’s trunk, enchanted for more space.

LJA opened the trunk, revealing a good chunk of ammo and a few spare guns along with about four gallons of water, but for everything else, he was lacking supplies in a manner that was borderline ridiculous. Scott seemed to notice this too as he set their extra ammo bags, back-up guns and Stiles’s back-up bats in the trunk.

Both were standing at Scott’s SUV to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything when it hit them. They had literally just put ALL of their supplies in a stranger’s car and he could simply drive off now and they’d be fucked. However, seeing as he wasn’t speeding off into the sunset yet… The two exchanged looks and Stiles grabbed Scott’s arms.

“Oh my god, dude, he’s going to kill us and make off with our supplies!” He hissed lowly.

Scott’s eyes widened impossibly huge and he shook his head, “Oh god we’re such idiots. Why did we even… _and he’s got all the whiskey!_ ”

“Wait… wait… let’s be rational….” Stiles said, holding up a hand to silence Scott before reaching into the SUV and pulling out a bottle from under the backseat. “We’ve got one bottle left.”

Looking at the bottle then up at Stiles, Scott wrapped his hand over Stiles’s around the neck of the bottle. “You… Have I told you I love you lately?”

“Not since the truck stop where I found the whiskey….”

“Stiles… I love you, bro.”

“I love you too.”

If they were going to be killed, well, they certainly weren’t going to be any more serious now than they had been when faced with death by zombies. The simple truth was that every day they had survived had been just another day closer to their inevitable deaths. It was easier to make a joke out of dying than to fear it.

They were still having their moment over the bottle when the LJA laid on the horn, calling out the window in an aggravated voice. “If you two idiots really want a ride, get your asses in the car or I _will_ leave you.”

“OH! Shotgun!” Stiles yelled, jerking away and abruptly smacking Scott in the face with the whiskey as he jogged over to the Camaro.

“DUDE you are such an ass!” Scott followed, rubbing his cheek with a scowl before settling in the backseat next to the food, Stiles climbing into the front.

With a really long-suffering sigh, LJA – Stiles was going to really have to learn his name now – put the car into gear and sped off. Deciding now was as good a time as ever, Stiles started to play the part of the gracious passenger.

“So I’m Stiles, this is my best bud Scott, and have we mentioned how super grateful we are for this? Because we really are and seriously, we’re also kind of glad that you didn’t leave us in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of dead zombies – that’s kind of redundant but you know what I mean. And I guess we could be grateful you haven’t killed us unless you’re just planning on driving a little ways away and THEN killing us, but I don’t think you’re going to do that so thanks.” He said, all in one breath followed by a big grin. “What’s your name?”

And there was that aggravated scowl again. Jeez, the guy looked about tense enough to snap the steering wheel in half. There was a silent thirty seconds and Stiles was about to ask again when LJA spoke.

“Derek.”

Progress!

“Derek. It works. I like it. I like D names. And S names, but that’s a given. L names seem to be good too, but only girl L names… Not really too fond on P or J names…” Stiles said, setting off on another tangent while Scott just sat in the backseat, simultaneously amused by his friend’s rambling while fearing for his life. But this Derek guy just seemed to sit there tensely and drive on while Stiles babbled, no violent actions made. That looked like a good sign, at least, and it had been a while since Scott had gotten to witness someone new coming under Stiles’s verbal barrage, so he sat back to enjoy.

Glancing at the car’s clock, he started a mental tally of how many minutes of straight rambling it’d take for Derek to finally snap.

The total came to seven and a half before Derek let out a snarl.

“Do you ever shut up?!”

Somehow, it didn’t even phase Stiles, who stopped in the middle of whatever topic he was on and took to a new tangent. “Sometimes. In situations where silence is called for. Or when I’m sleeping… No wait, Scott said I sleep talk so I guess not. It’s probably because of my ADHD, which isn’t as bad as it used to be, but it makes it a lot harder for me to be still if it isn’t absolutely necessary. Speaking of, Scott, when we reach Pittsburgh, I want to raid a pharmacy for their Adderall.”

“Look, kid-“

“Stiles.”

“What?”

“My name is Stiles, I introduced myself. So use my name. I’ll use yours, Derek.”

Whatever Derek was going to say seemed to die on his lips as he stared at Stiles like he was an alien or something. Then he shook his head, looking back to the road, voice still tense but not as snappish as it had been. “Look, _Stiles_ , I’ve been travelling alone for almost a month now. I appreciate the quiet. So could you _please_ shut up?”

There was a strange, strained quality to Derek’s voice that Stiles couldn’t quite place at the moment but he nodded slowly. “Yea… Sorry… I can…”

Falling silent, Stiles shifted in his seat, studying Derek closely from the tension in his face and shoulders, to the little nervous tic of his fingers against the steering wheel. Whatever this guy’s problem was, Stiles didn’t want to ask because he looked like he was minutes away from exploding and it wasn’t really his place. Instead, the twenty year old sat back in the seat, looking out the window and trying to find something to focus on so he’d keep quiet.

But in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania, there wasn’t a whole lot of scenery; even the roads were strangely empty of the usual litter of crashed cars.

Ten minutes passed and Stiles started to bounce his leg. Another five and he tapped his fingers on his thigh. Ten more and he was bobbing his head slightly to nothing in particular. And when it hit a full thirty minutes of silence, he sucked in a breath before swallowing it.

Derek looked over, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before saying. “Go ahead and talk before you implode.”

“Ohthankgod.” Stiles said, jerking up and turning around to look at Scott, grinning and going off about all the things that had been running through his mind.

Scott just laughed and responded where he was able to, the two of them still pretty giddy after not getting eaten _and_ finding a ride out to Pittsburgh. He did notice, however, that Derek kept looking at Stiles, as if he wasn’t sure what to think of the male in the front seat and that he didn’t like the confusion. But that wasn’t surprising for Scott because, really, no one knew what to make of Stiles when they first met him, or when they’d known him for ages.

Yea, this was definitely going to be an interesting trip.

They drove for about six hours without stopping before Scott very literally begged Derek to pull over or he’d pee in the car, and Stiles insisted he needed movement with a flailing of limbs. So very begrudgingly, Derek pulled the car to the side of the road and watched the two younger men struggle their way out over each other to get to the side of the road.

Scott immediately set about relieving himself while Stiles stood next to him and jabbered away about something or another while he shook all of his limbs out and stretched. It wasn’t until Scott actually prompted, that Stiles realized he should probably take this chance to go the bathroom as well if Derek was going to insist on driving the next six hours straight too.

They dawdled by the side of the road as long as they dared, glad to be out of the car because, while it wasn’t too cramped, being cooped up anywhere for too long made them both antsy - Stiles particularly more antsy than his normal self – and Derek wasn’t exactly a calming personality. When they finally did climb back in the car, Stiles took the back seat, rearranging himself and the food bins so he was as stretched out across the backseat as possible. Scott gladly took the front seat and it looked like Derek was sort of okay with the too because at least then, Stiles wasn’t yammering away in his ear.

Except now Stiles sat up every ten minutes to stick his head between the seats and say something to Scott. After the tenth time, Derek put his hand over Stiles’s face and literally pushed him back into the backseat, gritting out a command for the boy to stay seated and shut up for half an hour.

Grumbling about stupid, grumpy, leather wearing assholes with nice cars – and ignoring the fact that the aforementioned asshole could hear him – Stiles settled down in the seat, falling into silence. Thankfully, instead of slowly becoming more and more irritatingly twitchy, he ended up falling asleep, face pressed into the back of the seat and mouth open as he snored softly.

Derek glanced back and let out a small sigh that held a lot of relief in it, relaxing back into his seat as if Stiles had been his entire source of tension. Scott couldn’t help but laugh quietly at it, missing the glare he earned while he stared out the window.

Another half an hour and he too was fast asleep, his face pressed against the window, which Derek would end up making him clean later for drooling all over it.

Finally, with the car was back to the almost silence that it’d held before Derek had picked the two up, he shook his head. A glance at the two sleeping boys and he sighed. “The things I do because of your influence.” He grumbled to himself, but continued to drive.

It took them another four hours to get to Pittsburgh, Scott and Stiles sleeping for about two of those and Derek wishing they were still asleep for the remaining two when he couldn’t get _either_ of them to shut up. Just outside the city now, they had stopped at the end of a bridge, surveying their way in. The side coming out of the city was overflowing with abandoned cars and while the side going in had its fair share of vehicles littering the bridge, it was a little emptier, making for an easier route. Though still not entirely accessible.

Driving as far as they could, Derek parked and shut off the car, climbing out and forcing Scott and Stiles out too, both of whom were reluctant in case Derek was going to make them walk into the city. “We’re going to have to push the cars to the side so we can get through.”

“What? Are you nuts? That’ll take forever!” Stiles whined, stretching his arms above his head and working out some stiffness. “Can’t we just find another way into the city? Another bridge? Isn’t this the City of Bridges or something?!”

“It’ll take us just as long to find another way in and all the bridges are going to be packed like this, so we might as well do this now. No use wasting the daylight.” Derek replied gruffly, pulling his jacket off to toss into the Camaro despite the chilly temperatures.

Stiles huffed, “But another way in would mean less physical labor.” He said, almost ready to resign himself to pushing when an idea hit and he ran to the nearest car, looking in the window.

Derek folded his arms over his chest, watching with an annoyed expression and a raised eyebrow, while Scott just tried to figure out what exactly Stiles was doing.

With a small woop, Stiles opened the door – because this person was smart and didn’t waste time locking the car – and climbed in. A moment later the engine was revving to life and Stiles was maneuvering the car off to the side of the road and clearing a little more roadway for them. He shut the car off before scrambling out and over to the next nearest car blocking the way.

This one took a little more searching but a look under the car found the keys and he moved this one out of the way just the same as the first. The third car unfortunately had no keys, but before Scott and Derek could step up to help push, they watched as Stiles all but flailed his way under the steering console. Seconds later, the engine started.

“Shit… I didn’t know he knew how to hot wire cars.” Scott said with a grin.

The fourth car proved to be both keyless and unhotwirable so Stiles jogged back down his now cleared path to stop in front of Derek and Scott.

“You, come help me push.” He said to Scott, before patting Derek’s chest and withdrawing his hand almost immediately at the murderous glare. “You, move the Camaro up. We’re going to do this my way and it’s going to save time AND manual labor!”

Scott glanced at Derek just in time to see the older man giving Stiles a strange look while Stiles bounced off to the car that needed moving. It wasn’t an irritated expression, but Scott couldn’t read it nor did he want to continued staring to find out, so he ran after Stiles, and the two of them pushed the car to the side, Stiles steering while he pushed and Scott in the back.

The Camaro rolled up and parked, Derek climbing out to help them push, which made it surprisingly easier than the two of them thought it should, but who was complaining? With that car out of the way, Stiles bounced on to the next looking for keys or sliding under the dash to hotwire it. Surprisingly, enough of the car still worked and Stiles made a mental note of that, so when they found the colony of survivors, they could come back here and grab some car.

Stiles was working on hot wiring one of the last remaining cars blocking their way, chattering away to Scott who was standing by the open door, when he heard the two quick gunshots and smacked his head against the car. Sliding out, he rubbed his forehead with a grimace, looking forward to see a zombie splattered across the ground.

It was no new sight to him by now, and instead of looking horrified, he gave an appraising look to the neat execution. He grinned over at Scott, who grinned back.

“Rule number four…” Scott said, raising his hand.

“Double-tap.” They spoke at the same time, high fiving each other and laughing.

Still snickering, Stiles slid back into the car and started it up, moving it out of the way before he and Scott waited for Derek to roll up.

With a grin, Stiles leaned down against the window sill of the driver’s side, “Think you can maneuver around those cars or should we move ‘em too?”

“Just get in. If there’s one, more of them will be coming.” Derek ordered sternly, to which Stiles just rolled his eyes.

“Alright, alright, keep your panties on.” He said as he and Scott moved to climb back in the car.

Sure enough, as they were speeding away and into the city, Scott and Stiles looked back to see at least five more of the undead heading for where they’d been moments before. When Scott opened his mouth to say something, Stiles slapped a hand over it.

“Don’t. Just don’t. If you jinx another getaway, I will take my bat to your head. And I won’t even feel remotely bad about it.”

Scott grinned sheepishly and swallowed whatever remark he was going to make.

The three of them drove around for about thirty minutes, Scott and Stiles looking for any sign of the survivor community while Derek searching for whatever it was he was looking for. Stiles mildly thought about asking exactly what it was that Derek was here for, but thought against it. He had to remind himself that there was no reason for them to stick their necks out for Derek after they found the survivors and he left them there.

They got into the center of the city, and Stiles turned to dig something out of his backpack. “Alright, says here they were holing up in an old bank.”

He turned to look at Derek; there was no way they could haul all of their supplies around but he wasn’t sure that their driver here would be willing to cart their things around without leaving. Apparently his thoughts were written all over his face as Derek looked at him then nodded, pulling off to the side of the road. “You go ahead and look, I’ll take care of what I have to and then drop your crap off when you find the survivors.”

Stiles blinked in surprise, because he honestly hadn’t been expecting that at all but he grinned widely and nodded. “Thanks, dude… that’s sort of really awesome of you. You know what, you can have like… two-thirds our beef jerky supply and maybe a half of the chocolate, you’re that incredible. Maybe even half a bottle of whiskey.”

“Just get out already.”

Scrambling out of the front seat, Stiles pulled his backpack on – it contained the few personal effects he still had and he wouldn’t leave those behind for anything – then reached in and grabbed his bat, before pausing thoughtfully. A moment’s decision and he was taking another from the trunk. He tucked his secondary bat into his backpack in a way that it’d be easier to grab later. Scott followed suit, taking his own backpack and his guns, along with a crowbar; Stiles had made him pick up a melee weapon after Scott had made Stiles carry a back up gun, which he was tucking in the back of his jeans.

Without so much as a goodbye, Derek took off down the street, leaving the two of them to head down the sidewalk, moving quickly but carefully. They exchanged looks when the Camaro was out of view, really hoping he’d come back with their shit. It was an anxious moment before Stiles broke the tension.

“It’s okay, bro, I got at least one bottle of whiskey in my bag.”

“My hero.” Scott laughed, and the continued on their way.

They walked for another thirty minutes, making it an hour since the beginning of their search, when they came across a large building, old and with marble pillars. Anywhere there had been or was still glass was now boarded up securely. It looked to be quite a good stronghold too. Trying the outer doors, they were quite surprised when they found them open, heading into the little entrance lobby.

“Hello? Anyone home?” Stiles called out, cautiously approaching the inner doors. While the outside had looked good and protected, these doors looked definitely worse for wear and there was a broken chain on the outside. He stopped, looking at Scott. This was definitely one of those scenarios they should walk away from but the underlying hope for other survivors pushed them on.

These doors were also easy to open, but even if they hadn’t been, Stiles was pretty sure he or Scott could’ve kicked them in. Maybe they had the wrong place. But they still had to check, for their own peace of mind.

“Alright, we’re coming in and neither of us are zombies nor have we been bit so… Don’t shoot us or anything, please!” He called out, gripping his bat tighter just in case, though it would do little against guns.

Now, since the start of the epidemic, things had never smelled pleasant. However, the stench in the bank was so overwhelmingly horrid and Stiles wonder if they hadn’t had some showdown in the lobby as he witnessed all the stains of blood and what used to probably be bodies. Scott was gagging slightly next to him, pulling his shirt up over his nose as Stiles did the same.

Neither wanted to give up their hope so easily, so they took the chance and walked inside more, looking around. There was a hallway leading up to what could only be assumed to be the administration offices, and at least here, there didn’t seem to be signs of a fight. The doors at the end of the hall were boarded up just like the front and if they really strained their ears, it sounded like someone was in there, talking lowly.

They walked down the hall slowly, Scott reached the door first, knocking. “Hello? Non-infected humans here! Anyone home?”

Standing right on the door, they could definitely hear movement inside and what sounded like a news radio playing. Exchanging glances, Stiles nodded and Scott reached for the door, turning the handle slowly. The fact it even opened should have made them turn tail and run, but even then, it would’ve been too late.

For as soon as the door started to open, the quiet movement inside turned to a flurry of sounds followed by inhuman shrieks as at least five zombies rushed the open doors, and the two boys standing on the other side. The only thing that saved them from immediate death was the fact that, at the same time the door burst open, a strong hand gripped each of them by the back of their jackets and yanked them away as a boot clad foot kicked out, sending the first zombie flying back into the others.

“They’re all dead!” Derek yelled at the two, “Go! Run for the door!”

Stiles, who was still flailing from the sudden surprise rescue, stared wide-eyed and motionless.

“Go!” Derek commanded again, head jerking to the side when Scott fired a few bullets passed him, a zombie right by Derek falling to the ground. They all looked up to see more undead trying to scramble out of the office.

“How about we all go?!” Scott suggested, receiving two nods in agreement before they turned tail and ran.

They made it so far as the lobby safely, finding even more zombies coming from other parts of the building, attracted by the noise.

“What the fuck, did they just stay in here and _breed_? Can zombies even breed?!” Stiles shrieked, swinging his bat into the nearest one’s head, aiming for another before the first had even crumpled to the ground.            

“Oh yea, let me tell you all about the mating habits of the fucking NORTH AMERICAN FLESH EATERS.” Scott yelled back.

Derek snapped behind them, “You two! Shut up, clear a path, and get the fuck out of the bank!”

The three of them fought their way through the bank lobby and out to the Camaro, scrambling to get inside. To save time, Stiles jumped in the passenger seat, Scott all but falling into his lap and Derek taking off as soon as they closed the door.

“Where the hell did they all come from?!” Scott stared backward out the back window, before looking at Derek, who was tense and had a snarl on his face.

“Those were your ‘survivors’.” He said as they sped off down the street which, Stiles noted, was in the direction of the bridge.

Stiles frowned at the words, “So… there’s no one left here, is there?”

He may have been posing a question but his tone of voice made it clear that he already knew the answer. Derek’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter and he shook his head. The drive out to the bridge silent and full of tension. Luckily, any zombies lurking around from their arrival were all gone by this time and Derek drove them right to the edge of the line of cars, stopping and parking.

Stiles swallowed, his rapid heartbeat finally calming. “So… uh… thanks. For coming back and… saving our asses. How… did you know?”

“Just a hunch.” Derek said, frowning. It was clear there was more to it, but it was also clear he wouldn’t tell if asked.

“Right… so uh… I guess this is where we’re going to part. We’ll just… grab our stuff and find a car….” He motioned for Scott to climb out so they could go, but once his friend was out of the car, he paused. This could potentially be his worst idea so far but he couldn’t help turning back to Derek to ask, “Where are you going next? We’re trying to get out to California. And if you’d be willing, I think it’d be… a really good idea if the three of us stuck together as far as you’ll take us.”

Scott stood outside the car, staring at Stiles in surprise, because usually he’d at least discuss it with Scott before asking. Derek looked equally shocked at the proposal, and he glanced from Stiles to Scott then back to Stiles. It seemed pretty certain that he was going to say no, but then he simply nodded.

“Alright. As far as I can take you. One condition. I’ve got things to do, and if I’m driving you out there, we’re going to be making a number of stops. Can you deal with that?”

This time, Stiles did look to Scott for consent before nodding to Derek. “Yea. We can deal.”

Derek took a moment to look at the two before turning the key in the ignition. “Alright, get back in and let’s go. We’ve got a lot of driving to do.”

Stiles didn’t know why, but he felt an excited energy bubbling up inside and he scrambled out of the seat so that Scott could climb in the backseat. He sat back down in the passenger seat, looking at Derek. “Onwards and upwards!”

With a derisive snort, Derek put the car in gear and drove as Stiles started what was going to be a long rant of incessant chattering.

In the backseat, Scott simply grinned because he really didn’t think Derek knew what he was in for when he agreed to take them, but then again, they didn’t even know what they were in for so fair was fair.

As he and Stiles would soon learn, fair was definitely fair and they’d get more than they had ever bargained for.

 


	4. Is Anyone Here Alive? (Pittsburgh to Detroit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I have a really strange editing process that involves writing, letting someone read it, editing the whole thing, and shipping it off to the next beta after adding like 2k or more of words. Did I mention this fic is getting out of hand?

                The drive to whatever the hell their next destination was – Derek didn’t seem inclined to mention that fact just yet – was just as slow going as the drive to Pittsburgh had been. And what made it even worse was the fact that not only did he keep putting Stiles in “time-out”, as the young man was prone to think of it now, but Derek also wouldn’t let them play any music. At all. Even when Stiles had his iPod full of perfect driving music. There was even multiple playlists devoted just to driving music and now they were all going to waste. While Scott was fine with that – the traitor – the silence that was imposed on him for periods of time, which Stiles knew were completely inhumanely longer than necessary, was really starting to grate on his nerves.

                It also seemed like every time he opened his mouth to speak or even just to breathe, Derek was already glaring at him with a look that clearly said “Don’t you say a thing.” This normally wouldn’t really bother Stiles because he got those looks a lot, but right now they were really effective. Mostly due to the fact that none of them had cleaned any of the zombie blood off of them and Derek’s hands looked like they’d been at least wrist-deep in a zombie’s stomach at one point.   

                After two hours of driving in silence along a road with only forest to either side, Stiles finally ignored the glares at his open mouth to voice his thoughts. “So uh… are we driving all the way… wherever we’re going… covered in zombie blood and guts? Because you know… this is really disgusting and unhygienic. Not to mention I really hope you have no open wounds on your hands because if you turn, dude I’ve got no reason not to kill you and take your fancy ass car.”

                In the place of a response, he simply received another silent glare and Stiles was getting a little worried that they really _were_ going to drive the whole time covered in gunk. However, after another ten minutes, they pulled off to the side of the road and Derek shut the car off with a look that made Stiles think maybe he really would prefer to drive covered in rotting flesh and blood. Seriously. Where had Derek perfected that serial killer look? And for what reason?

“Let’s go.” Derek said gruffly, sliding out of the driver’s seat and grabbing one of his guns as he went. That definitely did not bode well with the expression on his face.

“Shit. No. I’m alright. Now that I look at it, I’m not even that gross. We can keep driving!” Stiles said, eyes wide while he and Scott exchanged slightly panicked looks. They really weren’t that ready to die and he had thought he’d have at least a few more days before he drove Derek to even contemplate shooting them.

The panic must have been quite evident to Derek, as Stiles had never seen someone roll their eyes so hard that their whole head moved with it, but that was exactly what Derek did in that moment.

“I’m not taking you into the forest to kill you. There’s a stream, this way. You want to get cleaned up. Let’s. Go. Don’t leave your weapons.” He said, before turning and heading into the forest.

If he thought that was in any way reassuring, Stiles had news for him on that front. Trading another uneasy look with Scott, the two of them slid out of the car and hesitantly followed after Derek, weapons in hand while staying a few feet behind him.

“If he looks like he’s doing anything tricky, you’ll shoot him, right?” Stiles asked in a low whisper, eyes flicking between Derek’s back and Scott’s face nervously.

“Dude, you know I’ve got your back. But I think maybe we might have to start trusting him _not_ to kill us at every moment if we’re going to be driving all the way to California together.” Scott replied just as quietly, though he didn’t seem so sold on that idea either.

“I know but he’s got this whole serial killer vibe going on. And he’s leading us into a forest. Scott, I don’t want to die by a man. If I gotta die in this shit I wanna go zombie!”

“…You’d rather have them ripping your flesh off slowly than a quick shot to the head?”

“Shut up, it’d be more dramatic.”

“Dude, you’re really weird.”

“Love you too, bro.”

If he heard it, Derek didn’t say anything about their frantic whispering as that walked, instead ignoring them to stop beside a small, quick running stream. Being that it was late November in the north, there was a bitter chill in the air so of course when he crouched down and dipped his fingers into the water, it was ice cold, but it’d have to do for now.

Stopping a few feet back from Derek, Stiles and Scott watched for a second, trying to figure out exactly what he was doing. Because, yes, he had said they were coming out here to wash up in a stream but this was almost too much. Very mountain man-ish. They watched as he shrugged his jacket off, hanging it on a tree branch before inspecting his clothing for what seemed like continued wearable-ness. Which made sense because clothes shopping in the zombie take over was limited.

 His jeans were fine, as well as dark enough that if there was blood on them, it wasn’t visible. The shirt, however, was a complete wreck and clearly wasn’t worth trying to salvage. Shame, it looked like it had been a nice shirt previous to this. But it wasn’t until Stiles took a closer look at the shredded material.

“Dude! Are those like… fucking teeth holes in your shirt?!” Stiles almost screamed, his raised voice echoing in the silence of the woods. Derek looked down at his side where there was a bloody rip and, yes, teeth holes in his shirt.

Stiles and Scott both looked incredibly pale as they stared Derek down, like any moment he’d suddenly turn and they’d have to deal with a zombie right then. However, Derek simply raised an eyebrow at Stiles’s outburst, before nonchalantly pulling the shirt up and over his head, revealing smooth flesh with no signs of a zombie bite.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Scott ran a hand through his hair. “Must have just grabbed your shirt then…” He said, “Right Stiles? … Stiles?”

Scott shot a glance over at his best friend, whose staring was about as subtle as getting head butted in the ass by a goat. Shaking his head, Scott elbowed Stiles in the side, giving him a pointed look when Stiles snapped out of his reverie. Yes, their new comrade-in-arms had a nice body. No, that didn’t mean Stiles should be staring like that because this was the zombie apocalypse and they agreed no one was getting laid until it was over. Not that Stiles really thought he had a chance here, but it still wasn’t helpful to be openly lusting.

Derek seemingly hadn’t even noticed the staring as he was crouching down again, dipping the shirt turned to rag into the stream and using it to scrub the blood off his hands and wrists, rubbing it over his face as well, the water apparently perking him up a bit. He was well into his cleaning when he glanced up to note the two still standing there. With a flat look, he shook his head and spoke gruffly. “Hurry up. I’m not waiting for you.”

“Right. Right, sorry.” Scott said as he moved to the stream, fumbling to pull his zip-up hoodie off, quickly followed by his shirt because, while he wasn’t covered in blood like Derek, he still hadn’t really bathed in longer than he cared to remember and it’d be nice to feel at least semi-clean.

Meanwhile, Stiles stood there, making a face and whining slightly because, while he didn’t think he was _too_ bad looking body-wise, Derek was built like a truck and Scott was pretty buff thanks to playing lacrosse at the university. In fact, pretty much the only way Scott had gotten out to Boston with Stiles was through constant, hardcore training, resulting in him getting a lacrosse scholarship; thankfully he’d outgrown the worst of his asthma by the end of junior year – Stiles was pretty sure Scott had just willed it to go away with his intense desire to play.

Stiles, however, had made the trip to college by way of brains and while he hadn’t put on any of the typical college fat, his muscle definition had definitely slipped with the lack of daily practice and the infrequent visits to the campus gym. The most he’d gained back was the building muscles in his arms from using a bat as his primary weapon.

But a little moment of self-consciousness didn’t mean he was going to continue standing there in a shirt with blood and rotting flesh on it. Tugging his shirt off, Stiles knelt by the stream, dunking the article of clothing all in before yelping and drawing his hands back. “Dude! You could’ve warned us that it’s freezing!”

Scott looked at Stiles then back at Derek, who seemed unaffected and unphased. Squatting beside his best friend, Scott put his hand in the water before jerking it back with a grimace. “Yea, that’s pretty fucking cold.”

“Quit complaining and hurry up.” Derek barked, now working on using the shirt to clean the blood off of his boots and the cuffs of his jeans.

Exchanging unspoken complaints, Scott and Stiles resigned themselves to the chilly water and worked on cleaning themselves up as quickly as possible. The water made them shiver ridiculously but it did feel a lot better than being covered in sweat, blood, and guts. The two worked as quickly as they could without sending their bodies into hypothermic shock and, despite being the more blood covered of the two, Stiles finished first, wringing the water out of his shirt and shaking it out. There was no way in hell he was putting that back on his body. Glancing over, he noted that both Scott’s shirt and hoodie were dry, which meant that he could at least put the shirt back on and be alright until they got to the car.

With that thought Stiles sprung into action, grabbing Scott’s hoodie and pulling it on, zipping it up quickly with a relieved sigh before Scott even had time to notice. “Ahhhh. So much warmer.”

“Stiles! What the hell, man?! I’m freezing too, you know!”

“Yea but _you’ve_ got a dry shirt, mine’s wet!”

“No one said you had to dunk yours!”

While this was very true, Stiles chose to ignore that face and instead just flipped Scott off, turning to head back to the car. The sooner he got back, the sooner he could grab his own clothes and be more comfortable without the cold zipper against his bare chest. But that didn’t mean he was about to start running, because then he would be _too_ warm and he just wanted a happy medium.

Stiles was trudging back to the car, arms wrapped tightly around his body in an attempt to ignore the chill, when Derek was apparently all finished cleaning up. The older man had discarded his shirt and was walking back to the car, bare-chested with jacket in hand. Making a face, Stiles shook his head, feeling colder on Derek’s behalf. “Bro, aren’t you like… freezing or something?!”

                In a manner that Stiles was beginning to suspect would become a usual thing, Derek ignored him to continue the trek back to the car. Once there, he opened the trunk and pulled a duffel bag forward, rifling through it until he found a long sleeved black Henley to tug on. Dressing, he shrugged his jacket on after wiping it down, giving a glance over at Stiles while he redressed as well. Stiles clothing choices were… a little odd. The younger male had put on a t-shirt in a deep red color and was following it with a pullover hoodie, also in red. Derek quirked an eyebrow at the combination of the two.

                “Is red the only color you own?”

                Pausing with only his arms in the hoodie’s sleeves, Stiles looked down at the clothes he had on, then over to the three-quarter sleeve baseball tee that was draped over the trunk to dry. It was dark red on the torso and a brighter red on the sleeves. With an indignant huff, Stiles finished pulling his hoodie on before he got a look over into Derek’s duffel. Seeing not one iota of color, he raised his own eyebrow in response before grabbing his damp shirt to fold and tuck away.

                “I’m going to be the bigger man and _not_ comment on how your wardrobe seems to include nothing but black and gray shirts and that leather jacket of yours. And _maybe_ two pairs of jeans but I’m still hedging on that being your only pair.”

                Derek rolled his eyes and Stiles was really contemplating keeping track of how many times the old male did that. He also made a mental note that Derek didn’t deny only having one pair of jeans, and really, that was just sad. Scott finally seemed to have finished as he caught up to them at the car, shivering in just his t-shirt and glaring a little. Without a word, Stiles handed over a clean t-shirt and his hoodie – still warm. Scott’s expression immediately turned to grateful as he changed, before heading back to the passenger side door.

                “I’ll take backseat, dude.” Stiles spoke up, but Scott waved him off, climbing in the back without a word. Shrugging, Stiles zipped up his bag and went to slide into the front seat, stretching his legs out as they waited for Derek, who was reloading ammo. As soon as he was finished and settling in the driver’s seat while starting up the car, Stiles was reaching for the heat to crank it up, completely oblivious to Derek’s big glare aimed directly at him. He didn’t, however, miss it when Derek smacked his hand away and the boy looked positively affronted.

                “Excuse you! We’re _freezing_! Can we mere mortals have a little heat here, Mr. Body Like A God I’m Going To Walk Half Naked Through The Freezing Woods And Not Care?!”

                Derek’s lip curled slightly in what was clearly his only response, turning to face forward again as he pulled back onto the road and Stiles sighed exasperatedly, reaching out once more to turn the heat up, only to have his hand smacked again. This repeated for a half dozen times until Stiles gave up for the moment with a huff and sat back, grumbling with a dark glare directed at Derek. He crossed his arms over his chest to preserve any heat he had as he did his best to ignore the cold. Hopefully he’d warm up as they drove, and if not he was going to karate chop Derek in his stupidly attractive face and turn the heat on.

                Okay, so he wouldn’t exactly do that because it could end up with him dead – either by causing Derek to crash the car or just kill him flat out while maintaining car control – but it was a nice dream while he froze his non-existent ass off here. Evil thoughts always warmed him up, after all.

                He stayed silent for about twenty minutes into the ride, shivering uncontrollably as he stared out the window. If he thought speaking without biting his tongue off was a possibility, he would have snarked something about Derek being an enormous asshole. However, his teeth were on the verge of chattering right out of his mouth and he didn’t much trust them not to sink into his frozen tongue. Instead, he took a deep breath to try and subdue his shivers, eyes darting to the panel with the dials that controlled the vents. They were just taunting him now.

                “Okay enough is enough. I’m turning the heat on and you’re not stopping me!” Stiles announced, which was probably stupid in retrospect because Derek grabbed his hand before he even got halfway to the console.

                The glare he earned wasn’t intimidating him, though. Nope. Not intimidating at all.

                “Come ooooooon.” Stiles whined, trying to tug his hand free with no luck before realizing that Derek’s hand was so incredibly warm that he didn’t _want_ to get his own free. At least not until sensation returned to his fingertips. “I’m freezing my nuts off! Will you just let me turn the damn heat on?!”

                Derek scowled, tossing Stiles’s hand back into his lap while ignoring the question. In retaliation, Stiles turned to stare at Derek, face scrunched up as he concentrated on developing the skill to make the older man’s head explode with his mind. Granted, that would probably end poorly – like the karate chop to the face idea – with them crashing into something but whatever, it might even make it warmer in the car and _that_ was the goal here.

                Apparently, Stiles’s explosive mind powers weren’t ready to be cultivated just yet and even his normal powers of annoyance weren’t working on Derek, who just continued to drive. Of course Derek would be just as good at ignoring people as Stiles was at annoying them. Groaning in a loud and obviously exasperated way, Stiles let his head fall back against the seat with a thud. “Can you at least tell me _why_ I’m developing hypothermia?”

                Silence, and then Derek was glancing over at Stiles before answering curtly. “Heat wastes gas.”

                Stiles stared at Derek incredulously for a moment before sputtering out. “Oh my god… No it doesn’t! The car generates heat from the motor and that gets diverted into the car! _Dude!_ You mean I’ve been freezing here because of a stupid misconception? Dammit let me turn the heat on!”

                No response to that and Stiles groaned; okay, if they ever got some free time between fighting zombies and running for their lives, he was giving this guy some serious lessons on how to use his words. “Fine. Look, we’ll make a deal. We turn the heat on. If it does waste your gas, then you can turn it off _and_ I’ll find a car and siphon out gas to replace it, no matter how horrible gas tastes and the vapors stay in your mouth and-…. Bleck.”

                With a heavy breath through his nose that was obvious frustrated reluctance, Derek nodded, keeping his hands on the steering wheel. The younger male eyed him carefully before reaching out and turning on the heat. At first there was a blast of cold air to his already freezing face and he cursed, but with a bit more fumbling of the buttons and doo-dads, he had glorious, beautiful heat pulsing out of the vent over his face and torso.

                “Oh thank the glorious gods of heat and warmth.” Stiles sighed happily, “Scott… Scott come here and bask with me.”

                Scott gave Derek a cautious look but the man didn’t seem inclined to say anything so Scott sat forward, putting his face right next to Stiles’s and letting out a content sigh. Promptly, Stiles grabbed Scott by the face and pressed their cheeks together. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

                “Absolute heaven.” Scott agreed as he felt the sensation returning to his face. He couldn’t even bring himself to care when Stiles turned his head and wiped his nose on Scott’s hoodie. Well, he cared a little bit but they were bros and there were a lot of worse things that had been on his clothing besides Stiles’s snot.

                The two stayed pressed together while enjoying the heat until it filled the whole car to a comfortable worth, giving Scott no reason to stay in an awkward half standing position so he sat back again. Thankfully, with the car now sufficiently heated, Derek was given a bit of a reprieve from the incessant whining while Stiles and Scott spoke quietly, finding it in their best interests to be nicer to their driver slash ally. Also, it was in their best interests to lull him into a false state of thinking that they weren’t that bad and hopefully by the time he realized that they really _were_ just that annoying and he should have killed them, well, hopefully they would have wormed their way into his cold, cruel heart by then.

                At least that was the way Stiles’s big plan was set to work out.

                It’d be another few hours before Derek would stop to let them piss off the side of the road, everyone complaining in some form. Derek grumbling about how they shouldn’t even have to pee this much because they weren’t even really drinking anything in the car; Scott and Stiles about how freezing it was outside of the warm car – which led to a riveting discussion about the freezing point of urine. Despite his complaints about stopping, Derek still took the time to relieve himself – though he crossed the road to the other side as if peeing on the same side as them was something weird. Or maybe he thought he’d catch their stupidity, which, Stiles had to admit that, since he and Scott had known each other, their idiot levels only seemed to increase while together.

He came back to the car moments to find Scott and Stiles goofing off.  Barking at them to get back in the car, he sat down in the driver’s seat, rubbing his face tiredly. However, he shook it off as he started the engine and soon enough they were taking off down the freeway again.

Everything seemed peaceful until about thirty minutes later when Derek cursed and was forced to stop in a little, abandoned town on the way to Detroit, to fuel up. Rolling up to a gas station, Derek parked and walked around to examine the pumps, which would old looking but not too old and after a moment, he had the nozzle in the car and was filling her up. At least that meant there would be no hose siphoning gas from other car’s tanks. Which was good considering Derek was claiming the heat _had_ decreased his gas, even while Stiles was sure it hadn’t.

                With Derek pumping the gas, Stiles and Scott climbed out to go raid the little convenience store for any supplies, finding nothing too substantial but gleefully grabbing a few remaining beers and an assortment of candy. Sorting through the ransacked shelves, Stiles happened to glance out the window to see Derek leaning against the car, eyes closed as if he were sleeping, clearly resting while he had a moment.  It almost seemed private and Stiles found himself feeling bad for staring, but the older man looked absolutely exhausted and he couldn’t help but wonder how long exactly had Derek been driving before they met up with him? Had he even had any sleep in the past few days?

                Nudging Scott, who was in the middle of trying to fit an entire Milky Way Simply Caramel into his mouth, he nodded out the window toward Derek. “Hey, do you think Derek would want to switch out? I could drive for a bit and he could get some rest. He looks really wrecked right now.”

                Scott glanced out the window for a moment before he snorted, shaking his head and trying to talk around the candy but caramel wasn’t exactly conducive to speaking clearly – or even speaking at all. In the end, his sentence was just a garbled bunch of sounds punctuated by a light spray of chocolate and caramel bits.

                Luckily, Stiles spoke fluent candy-mouth, as well as being completely unable to find anything Scott did disgusting anymore, and he nodded his head in agreement. “You’re right. He’d probably have to lose both arms and a leg before he let anyone else drive that beautiful car.”

                The two finished dumping everything into the bags they’d brought, high fiving over their loot before heading out to the car again. Even before they exited the shop, Derek was standing straight up again, his face schooled in an alert and awake expression that Stiles might have believed if he hadn’t seen the complete exhaustion mere moments ago.

                Hopefully Derek would know when enough was enough and would stop driving for sleep.

                With the car full of gas and new munchies, Derek was ready to get back on the road, already cranky over the multiple stops when Scott suggested that – in a little hick town like this – there was bound to be some ammo and weapons to be had, so why not take a minute to look around? Even Derek had to admit it was a good plan. Especially seeing as, so far, there were no signs of any undead lingering around which meant either everyone had left before the virus took over, or the undead had killed all the living and then rotted away themselves. It would be nice to be able to walk around somewhere without a zombie popping up every five feet.

                A short wander around the town proved the initial theory that the town had pretty much been abandoned by the previous residents, probably after a couple of people contracted the virus, if one of the worse looking houses was anything to go by. However, there were signs that there could be some ‘life’ lingering about and they made sure to be alert as they continued their walk through. The original idea that there’d be spare ammo and weapons, however, seemed to be untrue as so far nothing had turned up.

                Being such a small town, Stiles suggested that the three of them split off to finish the remaining few homes and get back on the road. It was almost as if Derek couldn’t wait to get away from them – or maybe he was just eager to keep driving – but at the mention of separating he was off and walking toward a thus unexplored cluster of houses.

                With a shrug, Scott and Stiles separated to search the remaining areas as well, joking around and trying to see who could find the strangest items in each house. So far, Stiles had brought out a mounted bass that was wearing a cowboy hat and Scott’s find was a frame photograph of what looked like stuffed deer set up to look like they were playing poker. The two laughed about their finds, before finishing up their side of the town and they were soon ready to go. All they needed to do now was find Derek, who they hadn’t even seen wandering around since they separated. Then again, he seemed like he’d rather not associate with them any more than he absolutely had to. As if their company wasn’t good enough!

                Nudging Scott toward a couple houses, Stiles headed for the ones at the other end, entering the first one and finding no sign of Derek, even after calling his name a couple times. He did, however, find a few interesting knick-knacks including what look like a small shark preserved in a tube of good and, really, small rural townspeople collect some strange things.

                In the next house he had equally as little luck locating Derek, and the house smelled of stale beer and body odor, even after however long it was abandoned. After a brief look around, he decided he didn’t want to stay long enough to see if the lingering scent was because it wasn’t truly empty. Instead he moved on in his search for their driver. The next two houses had zilch and it wasn’t until he was one house from the middle of the street that he found Derek.

                Upon first entering the home, it was obvious it’d been the living place of an older woman, if all the pictures of children and grandchildren, as well as the overwhelming cat smell were any indication. That and the abundance of cross stitch and “We love Grandma!” artwork that plastered the walls. Shaking his head at some of the crayon drawings, he moved to check out the living room first, finding it empty and full of overstuffed and worn furniture, along with a TV that looked like it was the second model ever invented.

                “Derek? You in here?” Stiles called out, as he made his way through the room and into the next, which happened to be the kitchen.

                This room was unsurprisingly full of old utensils in containers on the counter, some pans still in the dish drain, and pot holders and little plaques hanging on the wall, all of which had phrases about kitchens and ‘home sweet home’ mentality all over them. There was a little breakfast nook that had crosswords still sitting on it, and it just had a very homey and grandmotherly feel to it. Stiles found himself pausing to observe the room and just wonder about the little old lady who was undoubtedly here last. He could almost just picture her sitting there with a pen in hand.

However, there was no Derek in sight, though he could definitely hear some movements from another room, and he gripped his bat tighter – just in case.

                “C’mon Derek, whatever you’re doing isn’t nearly important as leaving now is, because there’s nada, zip, and zilch in any of these houses. They must’ve gathered up all their supplies and left, shooting zombies in their wake!”

                Another doorway found him in the dining room and Stiles let out an amused huff at the scene before him; there were at least six or seven cat dishes scattered all over the table, each in front of a chair as if that were a specific cat’s designating dining seat. Alright, it was confirmed, he was inside the house of a lonely old cat lady and he only hoped that she hadn’t died trying to save poor Mister Whiskers or Garfield. He also hoped he wasn’t going to stumble upon some starved cat as he searched for Derek – or even worse – a half eaten kitty-corpse.

                Hearing more sounds of movement, Stiles turned slowly, listening and trying to locate from what direction the sound was emanating. He stopped when he was facing what seemed to be an add-on divider between the dining room and the den, with a little nook cut out and serving as a book and knickknack shelf. Peering over the books and small porcelain cats, as well as a small cactus, Stiles grinned when he finally spotted Derek.

                The older man was seated in a leather chair that looked like it had been well used over the course of its lifetime – that was also, of course, adorned with hand crocheted doilies on the head rest and arms – and there was a small chest at his feet; probably the reason he’d sat down at all was to look in it. But that wasn’t the amusing part. What made the scene so funny – aside from Derek looking so out of place in an old cat lady’s home – was the fact that the dark haired man was fast asleep, elbow on the chair’s arm and face in his hand. Stiles absolutely couldn’t resist pulling his phone out and taking a picture, snickering to himself as he did.

                It wasn’t until he was looking at the saved picture on his phone that he even realized something was up, and that it hadn’t been Derek moving and making sounds. His head jolted up and he almost dropped his phone, because in the corner of the picture there was definitely a zombie and it was now heading right for Derek, who wasn’t even moving other than the slow rise and fall of his chest.

                If this was all some well thought out plan for a wait for them to come to him tactic on Derek’s part – which, Stiles was pretty sure it wasn’t – that plan would definitely have been working, but Stiles had no inclination to wait until the zombie was practically on top of Derek to find out.

“Down in front!” Stiles yelled as he shoved his way through the cut out in the wall, using the chair’s arm as a spring board to vault over Derek – who woke up from the shout and the way Stiles shoved him down in the chair. There was a split second of surprise on Derek’s face that Stiles got to enjoy, before he had to look forward again so he could effectively slam his bat into the zombie’s head.

                “Stiles what the hell!?”

                “If you’re going to fall asleep in a little old lady’s house during a zombie invasion…. Well… just don’t!” Stiles said, whirling around to see another zombie lumbering into the room, and oh god that was definitely the old cat lady. “It’s a really stupid thing to do so go make yourself useful and get the goddamn car. _I’ll_ take care of things here.”

                Derek looked around, slightly disoriented as he realized what had happened and he quickly stood. A scowl replaced the bemused expression, both at Stiles yelling orders at him as well as being internally directed, but he still ran out of the house and back to the gas station for the car after only a second’s  hesitation.

                It seemed like there were only two zombies to deal with before Stiles was exiting the house, making sure to check for any of the flesh eaters in the front yard first. The Camaro was just pulling up, Scott already in the backseat and pushing the door open for Stiles to climb in.

                “Well, as fun as this little adventure was, I really think we should keep going now.” Stiles said, grabbing a container of wipes to clean his bat off. Derek gave a short nod in agreement, tires spinning in the gravel before they took off back to the interstate, putting the little town well into the rearview mirror.

                Stiles waited all of five minutes – which were used to clean his bat off - before looking over at Derek with a smug smirk. “So since I totally just jumped in there and saved your ass because you fell asleep on the job, how about you and I switch out and you let me drive for a while?”

                Predictably, he received a sideways glare and curt, growly “No.”

                “But if you’d gotten eaten in there, I’d be driving anyway, so I don’t really see what the big deal is….”

                “ _No_.”

                “ _Dude!_ You were a-fucking-sleep in there! If we switch out driving then you. Can. Sleep!”

                Derek didn’t even waste his breathe to say no this time, just snarled and pressed down hard on the accelerator, the car jumping and hurtling down the freeway to make the point that he wasn’t stopping.

                Giving Derek a glare, Stiles had to resist flicking the driver in the head because he was so absolutely infuriating! The car fell into silence for a moment or two, Stiles still glaring and Derek pointedly ignoring him. The tension was only broken when Scott leaned forward between the seats and spoke.

“Hey… so what about if I give you this Milky Way? Can _I_ drive? It’s a Simply Caramel.”

                Almost as if to spite Stiles – no, he took that back, completely to spite Stiles because Derek was an asshole – Derek glanced over and seemed to be contemplating that offer, which sent Stiles on a long tangent of “Are you seriously considering that fucking candy?! I saved your goddamn life you jackass! That should rank way higher than a damn candy bar!”

                He went on and on, allowed to continue his rant for approximately two minutes and forty five seconds before Derek slammed a hand over his mouth and told him to shut up or get out of the car, and he wasn’t stop to let him out either. With a begrudging sigh, Stiles stopped his talking and sat back. But not before he grabbed an energy drink from the cooler of drinks on the backseat’s floor, shoving the can into Derek’s hand and not looking away until Derek drank it.

                Only then was Stiles satisfied with letting Derek continue driving, and he settled in, starting a discussion up with Scott about a point system for types of zombies killed, or maybe making a bingo game out of it.

                Another couple hours and a bag of Doritos later, night was beginning to fall, casting them in darkness. They were in the middle of nowhere on some country interstate, it seemed, as there was a lot of flat ground and a few sporadic trees. This was boring to stare at during the day, which made it even worse in the dark so Stiles turned to look at Derek instead. The driver looked tired but when Stiles had again tried suggesting switching drivers, Derek had all but physically bit Stiles’s head off. He seemed to get grumpier the longer he was awake, which had prompted Stiles to try and figure out a formula for Derek’s sleep versus grump ratio.

                He’d need more data for that formula to be anywhere accurate, but if lack of sleep was definitely the cause of the grumpiness, well, Derek must not have slept for _years_.

                So when the car started to pull off to one side of the road, Stiles was rightfully worried for a minute that the other male had drifted off and they were swerving off the road with him asleep. However, it just took one close look at him to see that Derek was still awake and _purposefully_ driving off the road.

                Scott, who’d been lying down in the back seat, was the one to ask the important question as he sat up, looking around in confusion. “What’re we doing?”

                “Stopping for the night.” Derek replied as he parked the car and shut the engine off. Rubbing his face with a hand, he climbed out to stretch, turning his head up to look at the sky before sighing.

                Frowning, Scott leaned forward enough to see Derek. “Why don’t we just drive until we find a city and stop there?”

                It was amazing how just a small arch of a brow could so very clearly call Scott an idiot. “Because in the cities, there are more zombies and more places for zombies to pop up out of. Out here, we can see everything for a certain amount of distance.”

                With a slow nod in understanding, Scott waited until Stiles climbed out of the car before following, the two chatting lightly and stretching their limbs as Derek walked around to the trunk. Pulling out a blanket, he slid back into the driver’s seat, settling down and closing his eyes without another word to them. The younger two stood outside the car talking for a few more moments, before climbing back in the car and burrowing into their own blankets. With everyone finally settled in, everything was calm and still as the three attempted to get some rest after a long day of zombie fighting.

                At least, it _was_ calm for about half an hour until the temperature in the car dropped, causing Stiles and Scott to start whining to each other in low tones about being cold. They’d thought they were doing a decent job of staying quiet but apparently not good enough as Derek soon snapped at them to shut up and go to sleep. But it wasn’t going to be that easy for either of them – which Stiles had no problem voicing to Derek’s back - and eventually, shaking like a leaf because of his temperature, he shoved the door open, letting in a burst of cold as he climbed out and earning a whining complaint from Scott and a low grumbling sound from Derek.

                Not that Stiles cared as he simply went about pushing the passenger seat forward and climbing into the back with Scott. He took a moment to close the door once again before all but climbing on top of his best friend and laying out.

                “Jesus, Stiles, you may be skinny but you weigh a ton!”

                “Shut up and appreciate my body heat, Scott McCall.”

                “So my options are either freeze to death or be squished to death but warm?”

                “Yep. Choose wisely because if you decide to die by freezing, I’ll cut your body open and crawl inside it to keep warm.”

                “… Did you just call me a Tauntaun?”

                “I did indeed.”

                “Will the two of just go the fuck to sleep already?!” Derek snarled, interrupting their banter.

                Stiles and Scott both quickly shut up at that, the two of them adjusting their positions to curl up in a totally bro-like manner – “I always wanted to be the little spoon.” “Shut up, Stiles.” – before managing to fall asleep, a good deal warmer than they had been.

                Several hours passed, Scott sleeping through them all while Stiles only woke up once at the sound of a car door closing. Glancing up tiredly, he noted that Derek wasn’t in the front seat and a quick glance out the windows showed no sign of him. With a shrug, he laid his head back down. He was almost asleep once more when another sound brought him back to consciousness, sending a shiver down his spine with it.

                Sitting up slowly, he looked out the window, trying to figure out if it was just his imagination when he heard it again; a long, clear wolf howl. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he waited to see if the creature would come any closer, but there wasn’t another howl and he forced himself to lay down again, curling in close with Scott. Lying there, he strained his ears, trying to stay alert and awake but as the warmth soaked back over him and no further sounds came, he fell asleep once more.

                The next time he woke up, the sun was just peeking over the horizon and he startled himself awake as he remembered the sounds from the previous night. However, Derek was back in the front seat and nothing looked out of the ordinary, making Stiles vaguely wonder if he’d dreamed it all up. Yawning, he sat up, narrowly avoiding being smacked in the face by Scott’s arm trying to wrap his blanket around himself after Stiles left him cold. He shoved the blanket around him before fumbling to move the front seat so he could climb out again.

                The cold wind outside was like a slap in the face but definitely a great way to rid him of any lingering sleepy feelings. He paused only to grab his bat before he walked off a ways to relieve himself, squinting around the desolate land around them in the early morning light. Yep, still the same old nothing they’d pulled into last night. Except… upon closer inspection, there was a dark lump a few yards off that he was pretty sure hadn’t been there last night.

                To investigate or not? He glanced back at the car where Scott and Derek seemed to still be sleeping peacefully, before shrugging and heading toward the suspicious bump on the ground, hands tightening around the bat. Just in case. He also knew that they’d at least hear him if he had to run screaming away from whatever it was.

                Both luckily and unluckily for him, the sun was coming up and as he got closer he could see exactly what it was. And it wasn’t a pretty sight. Though it wouldn’t be running after him, that was sure.

                A deer; dead, its body ripped open by something. Stiles was pretty sure that it had to be some sort of animal feasting on Bambi’s flesh, but it wasn’t the only possibility. In his own personal experience, he’d never seen a zombie eat an animal, but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. Not to mention he didn’t want to have to run from an undead deer. Jogging back to the car, he wrenched the door open and slid in, looking over to see Derek sitting up.

                There was a silent moment of staring before Derek looked away, scrubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t bother asking as he sat his seat back up before slipping out of the car for presumably the same reason Stiles had. As he watched him walk off, he had a thought that maybe he should have warned him about the potential for a zombie out there, but he wasn’t about to climb out of the car to yell “Hey Derek, I know you’re taking a leak but there might be a zombie out here eating wildlife so hurry up.”

                And then he remembered it; the sound of the howls from before and it suddenly clicked. There had been a wolf out there and it had been not too far from them, just feasting on a deer. He shook off a chill at the idea he could have become puppy chow, and found himself thinking that maybe he _should_ warn Derek about potential threats.

                But seemingly no zombie or wolf attacks happened as Derek returned in no time, giving a look back at Scott, who was still sleeping, before shrugging and starting the car up again. It was painfully clear that before Scott and Stiles had become involved, Derek was the kind of guy to drive from dawn to dusk – and then some – sleep very little, probably only eat when he absolutely had to, and just keep soldiering on. Stiles had to wonder exactly what his reason for travelling like that was, but they weren’t really on that sort of level yet that he could freely ask.

                Instead, he just sat back in the seat as the scenery started to roll by again, mind filling with fanciful ideas about just who Derek was and if maybe, just maybe, they might be able to help him before he ran himself into the ground.

 


	5. My Mind Is Anarchy Anticipating And Debating What Is Left For Me (Detroit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh so... Hi! *nervous laughter* I'm not dead and neither is this fic! Things happened, but here's the next chapter and I swear to god that chapter six won't take three months to update. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left comments, I'll be replying to those soon, as well. 
> 
> Special thanks to Shlala for bearing with me, and Chelsea for beta'ing. 
> 
> Hopefully this lives up to expectations, so... enjoy!

After fifteen minutes of driving, Stiles saw the signs popping up – or fallen over, whichever – at the side of the road to indicates miles to the nearest city. Glancing over at Derek, he raised an eyebrow. “So are we heading to Detroit or is it just a coincidence that everything seems to be pointing in that direction?”

Derek’s response was a simple grunt, which Stiles took as an affirmative as he sat back, trying to remember what he could about what was in the city. Aside from zombies, that was. Because while he didn’t mind their road tripping to get home, he was going to take his time to enjoy the sights that he never would have gotten to see without this whole mess. But his mind drew a blank on what there was in Detroit, so he just hoped there’d be some good tourist signs around.

It was only another hour or so before they arrived in the actual city and while Pittsburgh had looked bad, Detroit looked worse. Much worse. The place was absolutely ransacked, more than likely happening right after containment started to backfire. Cars were littering the street like crumpled tin cans, but luckily not bad enough that any of them had to get out and repeat the Great Car Move of Pittsburgh. 

                Almost as if to prove how much worse Detroit was from their last stop, they’d only driven about ten minutes into the city when the undead began to make their presence known. First two, then another three, and then more until there were about ten to fifteen zombies running after the car at one time. 

                Looking to Derek, the driver didn’t seem to be too bothered by this as he just continued to drive and Scott, who had only just woken up, was far more worried about the fact that it meant he couldn’t pee until they were away from the zombies. Derek made it abundantly clear that _no one_ was peeing out the window.

Stiles was really starting to wonder if, somehow, he was the sanest out of the three because at least _he_ was worried about how visible the zombie population here was. Like, way more visible than any other location so far. Taking a breath, he pulled his gaze from the undead running after them.

                “So what’s the game plan, Boss?” Stiles asked, looking at Derek.

                “ _I’ve_ got something to do, I don’t give a damn what you two do just don’t get lost or I’m leaving you behind.” He replied, brusquely. 

                Stiles raised first one eyebrow, then the other, “You know the whole point of joining up was to work together… separating isn’t really going to be useful. What do you have to do? We can help, you know. It’s not like we’re completely useless.”

                “No.” Derek snapped, and Stiles was pretty certain he’d never seen anyone so angry over offered assistance.

                “Fine. Sheesh. We’ll go… find…. Water?” He suggested, glancing back at Scott who was apparently still half asleep because he just nodded and rubbed at his face in response.

                After a moment, Derek nodded, looking down to check the watch on his wrist. Noting the look, Stiles leaned forward, fumbling in his backpack before coming up with an old pocket watch his grandfather had given him. When he’d first gotten it, it’d been a novelty to him, but now it was a necessity. Due to it being a wind up one watch, he didn’t have to worry about batteries dying so long as he remembered to wind it.

                Leaning over, he grabbed Derek’s wrist, ignoring the snarl he got for the unwarranted touching and checked the two against each other, muttering “Synchronize watches” as he did. Once he was sure the times were the same, he released the older man’s arm, sitting back in his seat and looking at him. 

“What are your orders, sir?” He asked in a mock military-esque manner. In reply, he received another eye roll, which Stiles was pretty sure was the third one he’d seen since leaving Pittsburgh; a surprisingly low number for now. 

                “Meet me back here in no more than three hours.” Derek said, pulling the car to the side of the road in front of an abandoned store, unlocking the doors. “Get out.”

                “Did you forget that zombies were running after us?!” Stiles asked, but he was already clambering for his bat and jumping out of the car because unlike those two with their guns, he was useless trapped in a vehicle. 

The small group of zombies chasing after them was still a ways off, so it wasn’t like they were immediately in danger, but still who the hell just pulled over and let people out when there were _flesh eating monsters running after them?!_

                Scott scrambled out after Stiles, grabbing his gun and pack while Stiles slid on his backpack. Glancing back in the car, Stiles gave Derek a stern look. “Three hours. No more. And you’re not allowed to leave earlier either.”

                With a glare as if he were honestly offended by that thought – though whether the offense was due to Stiles thinking Derek would leave them, or because now Derek couldn’t actually leave them, he wasn’t sure – Derek gave Stiles an icy nod before peeling away after the door was closed. Sighing, he and Scott exchanged looks as they adjusted their weapons and went to meet the zombies head-on.

                That little fight didn’t take them too long, only about twenty minutes before the two began their search for water, in a considerably good mood for people who just had to fight off zombies. They made their way down the street like they didn’t have any care in the world, and it actually felt nice to sort of relax, even if every sound had them tensing for attack.

                Their first stops were to go in a few different grocery stores, liberating a shopping cart from one for anything they did find. Obviously, supplies were scarce and every grocery store they entered smelled like dead bodies covered in vomit; to be expected of places without power and leaving the perishables where they were. By the end of the three hours, however, they still had a considerable stack of items – water included – in the cart and were pushing it down the street. 

                The temperature had been declining slowly but steadily, even with the sun still climbing in the sky. It was around noon now, and Scott and Stiles were heading back to their designated meeting spot They were talking as they went, as well as eating poptarts, dressed in more clothes now than they had when Derek dropped them off. Stiles was particularly proud of his clothing finds, including the winter hat plopped on his head. It was red with the outline of a moose on it in white, and it had earflaps with dangles as well as a little red pom-pom on top.

                Finding their designated meeting point, the two of them sat side by side, with their backs against the shopping cart as they kept watch for zombies and/or Derek’s car.

                “All I was trying to say is that RDJ _is_ Tony Stark, and I wouldn’t want to watch an Iron Man reboot with any other actor. Like, ever.”

                “Well you don’t really have to worry about that now, now do you? Oh god. Dude. Now I’m thinking about Robert Downey Jr. being eaten by zombies.”

                “Naw. He probably kicked their asses at the first sign of this shit, and went off gathering up other actors and creating an acting community of survivors.”

                “I bet at least all of the Avengers are there.”

                Stiles nodded in agreement, glancing down at the watch in his hand and letting out a small sound. “You know, I thought he’d be here right on the hour mark, scowling and being cranky.”

                Shrugging, Scott reached up into the cart, fishing out a bottle of soda they’d found and opening it. Taking a gulp, he wiped his mouth with the back of hand. “Eh, he’ll be here soon enough to scowl at you and make you oh so aroused. Soda?”

                “He does not make me ‘oh so aroused’, thank you very much.” Stiles huffed, taking the soda from his friend.

                The two sat there for about an hour with no sign of Derek but plenty of signs of zombie life. They took turns between guarding the cart and getting up to kill any approaching undead, because luckily, it was usually just one or two at a time. By the start of the second hour without Derek, the temperature had dropped even more and then clouds had rolled in, opening up to let big snowflakes drift to the ground.

                “Where the hell is he? He’s the one who set the damn three hour rule!” Scott grumbled, arms wrapped around himself and trying to hold his body heat in.

                “If he left us here, I’m going to find him. And I’m going to kick his ass so badly that… Well… I doubt I could really kick his ass unless I surprise him so I’ll have to ninja after him… But I will kick his ass so badly.” Stiles said, noting a zombie limping toward them. Sighing, he walked over to it, looking nonplussed as he smashed its head in. And if he’d been imagining it was Derek at the time, no one would fault him because he was freezing, it was snowing, and the zombies were _still_ coming at them. 

                Luckily, it was no more than ten minutes later that the roar of an engine was heard as the Camaro came into sight.  

                “Get in.” Derek said as he pulled up, looking even more angry and frown-y than usual. But Stiles didn’t care because he was also pretty pissy.

                Stowing their loot in the trunk, Scott and Stiles climbed in the car, Stiles rounding on Derek the moment the door closed.

                “It’s about goddamn time man, do you know how cold it is out there?! _Jesus_. And it’s really starting to come down, so if you were any later we wouldn’t be able to get out of here without getting stuck.”

                “We’re not leaving.” Derek replied, voice a growl that matched his dark expression.

                “Excuse me? Not leaving? Ummmm, yea… that doesn’t really work for me. Or Scott.” Stiles said, buckling himself in and dusting snow off his clothes as he reached to turn the heat up. 

                “We’re not leaving. Not until I get what I came for.”

                Scott rolled his eyes, pulling his gloves off to breathe on his hands. “Seriously, dude? Tell us what you’re looking for and we’ll help you find it so we can leave before getting snowed in. With Zombies.”

                “Seriously.” Stiles said, “I’ve seen that movie, and it does not end well for humans.”

                Derek just turned his head to glare at that, driving down the street in silence.

                “What the hell dude? What are we going to do then, freeze in here?” Scott whined, leaning forward between the seats so he could see Derek’s face better.

                “I found a place to stay the night.” 

                Stiles stared at Derek incredulously, unable to even formulate a response to that because where even would they stay in this god forsaken dead city? Shaking his head, he sat back in the seat, muttering under his breath about idiots with death wishes and such, as Scott did flopped back down in the back.

Guess they were staying in Detroit for the night. And neither of them were very happy with that.

As it turned out, Derek’s place to stay was actually a legitimate place to stay and not some cardboard boxes – as Stiles had initially expected. It was, in fact, an old furniture store which at least meant that they had something to sleep on. The front windows had all been boarded up and while there wasn’t any electricity, after a quick search of the place, Scott had found a little hand cranked generator in a storage room. It wasn’t anything fancy, but at least could be used to power the microwave Stiles found in the break room.

                That was helpful in the fact that they could heat up some water and make ramen, as well as some hot chocolate, which their cold bodies and empty stomachs rejoiced at. And while Derek didn’t seem to be hungry enough to eat the ramen, he did begrudgingly take a mug of hot chocolate.

                “Not my best…” Stiles said, as he handed it over to the older man, “But it’ll make do because we don’t have a sauce pan, milk, or stove.”

                Derek just muttered something that was probably a word of thanks, sipping the drink.

                After eating, Stiles got up to wander the store a bit more, finding some starter logs by a fireplace display and doing a little victory dance. He grabbed them and some of the pokers from the stand, heading back to where Scott and Derek sat.

                “Look what I found!” Stiles grinned brightly, watching Scott perk up at the prospect of heat. Except their hopes were shot down quickly when Derek spoke.

                “No.”

“What?”               

“No. You’re not starting a fire. Do you _want_ to attract every infected person in the area?”

“It wouldn’t attract every infected per-…”

“Yes it would.

“Derek we’re freezing!”

“C’mon dude!”

“No. And if you start it, I’m just going to put it out.”

Grumbling, Scott and Stiles got up to go grab a mattress off a display bed, stripping off the blankets from all the other displays. If Derek wasn’t going to let them start a fire, they were going to have to do whatever they could to stay warm as the temperature plummeted over night. Including making a giant nest of blankets and curling up with each other.

“I’ll wake one of you for watch duty in a couple hours.” Derek said after he watched them build their bed. Standing, he walked to the front of the shop, sitting near the boarded up windows and watching out of crack in the boards.

Stiles grumbled as he and Scott climbed into their cocoon of blankets, laying back to back. “If someone’s going to be on watch at all times, why can’t we have a freakin’ fire? Not like we wouldn’t know if a zombie was approaching then…”

Scott made a sound in agreement, but he was already half asleep, and Stiles envied how quickly his friend could always fall asleep.

The night passed slowly for them, what with the cold keeping them from actual, restful sleep and Derek waking them both a few hours so they could figure out who would take watch. Which they figured out by playing rock paper scissors. Scott lost which meant that Stiles immediately burrowed back into their blanket nest while Scott took his own blanket and headed to take up Derek’s spot at the front. Derek himself just sat against a wall, closing his eyes with only a single blanket over him. 

Another few hours, and it was Stiles’s turn while Scott all but dove into the blanket nest, still warm from Stiles’s sleep.

Stiles’s turn at the watch lasted just as dawn broke, and Derek woke up around that time to tell Stiles to go sleep for another few hours, after which they’d be on the move. He gladly took that excuse to go warm himself up again, curling up right against Scott because bros don’t let bros get hypothermia.

When Derek woke them next, they were instructed to pack their things up and get it back into the car; there’d been no zombie sightings for a while but Derek didn’t want to take any risks. It had only stopped snowing around four in the morning, which meant everything was coated in snow, about a foot or so deep, meaning just enough to hinder their progress. Together, they managed to dig the car out of the snow, tossing their belongings – as well as some extra blankets and the generator – into the Camaro, which would definitely make for a tighter squeeze later.

                They were about to climb in when Derek shook his head. “No. We’re on foot today. Grab your weapons and travel as light as you can.”

                “Oh so you’re letting us help?” Stiles asked, starting to move things around to grab what he’d need.

                “No, it’s just easier to keep track of you if you come with me instead of having to set up another meeting point.”

                “Seriously, I know we only met literally…. Two or three days ago… but if you let us help you, we could get this done quicker.”

                Derek chose not to respond, finding that no matter what he did, Stiles would continue talking and if he ignored the younger man, at least his talking would turn to a new topic and Derek could easily tune that out.

                True to his thought, when Derek didn’t argue back, Stiles tried to convince him a few more times that they really could help, before giving up and grabbing his bat, glad he had gloves because the metal was seriously cold, even with the grip. He tucked his back-up gun in the back of his pants as well as grabbing an extra clip while Scott loaded himself up with extra clips and his guns, dutifully grabbing his knife when Stiles stared him down.

                Armed now, they looked to Derek, who had no weapons in hand but they could never tell if he was hiding something somewhere, so it was no use asking. With a curt nod, he began to walk down the street, trusting the other two to follow.

                Which they did. For the most part. It wasn’t really their fault that they got distracted by the snow; it was just there and Stiles suddenly had a snowball, which he pelted at Scott and Scott retaliated in like. Derek seemed to ignore them as long as they kept up, making his way down the street at a somewhat easy pace, keeping watch for anything unusual but also having the stance of someone looking for something.

It wasn’t anything too exciting, but then again, any peace in this day and age was welcomed. Any chance to just relax – though not too much – was greatly appreciated, and neither Stiles nor Scott was going to give that up. In fact, the worst thing to happen on their walk was when Scott dodged a snowball and it hit Derek square in the back of the head. The older man paused, turning around and snapping for the ‘two idiots to quit goofing off and be on guard.’ After that, they were a lot more careful with their snowballs.

After about two hours of wandering the snow covered city, the novelty of the snow had worn off and Stiles and Scott were ready to go back to the car. Maybe make some hot drinks before they left. But still, they trudged on after Derek, who seemingly hadn’t found what he was looking for yet.

                Another hour of seemingly mindless wandering passed before Stiles and Scott started in on the complaining.

                “I’m freezing my balls off, dude!” Stiles started, calling after Derek, getting no response.

                “Where the hell are we even going?” Scott asked next, also earning silence from the older man. A few more similar statements, and they were getting fed up with their lack of information. It was then that the two of them decided to carry on an inane conversation, loudly and obnoxiously. Because if Derek was going to ignore them being reasonable, obviously the only answer was to be unreasonable.

                “Do you think the zombies of Detroit wield guns gangsta style or traditional?”

                “I didn’t see any of them doing it that way… Then again, I didn’t see any of them with guns. Can zombies even hold guns?”

                “You never know. Though I’d probably shit myself if I saw one of those fuckers with a gun. We’d be like, fast food for them then. Oh my god. _Dude,_ I’m craving some fucking curly fries. How long has it been since we last ate?”

                “Don’t think about food. Think about something else… Like… Is there anything fun to do in Detroit? Dammit, now _I’m_ thinking about food!”

                “Ummmm… Oh! Can I go to the zoo and get a pet monkey?!”

                The conversation continued on for another few minutes, and it was quite clear that Derek was beginning to regret all the life decisions that led him to this point. Yet another successful mission in the McCall-Stilinski book of annoying people into action. 

                Even if his action was to turn around and pelt them both – hard – with snowballs, hitting them right in their faces. In retrospect, also a poor choice of action because it only encouraged Scott and Stiles to reciprocate, ganging up on Derek and throwing snowballs at him as well until he got a chance to yell at them to knock it off. 

                And so they resumed their trudging through the snow, without any answers, albeit in better spirits. Thankfully, it was only another ten minutes before Derek took off in a run. Whatever it was he was looking for, it seemed like he’d suddenly found it and the other two had a bit of trouble trying to keep up with him.

                When they finally came to a halt where Derek had stopped, the other man was standing stock still and Stiles was pretty sure he was doing the ultimate facepalm. Glancing around at where they stopped, an obnoxious grin grew over Stiles’s face.

                “The zoo?! Seriously dude?!”

                Derek seemed to grind his teeth, gritting out, “Yes. The zoo. I have… business here.”

                Stiles laughed loudly, almost doubling over as he nudged Scott in the side. “He’s taking us to the zoo!”

                Laughing as well, Scott high fived Stiles when he raised his hand for it, glancing back at Derek who was just glowering. The three of them stood there for a minute, and when no one moved, Stiles took off to the entrance, somehow finding the energy to run after their little sprint.

                “Where are you going?!” Scott asked, staring after his friend.

                “I’m going to find the motherfucking tiger and pet it!”

                “Stiles! You can’t pet the tiger!”

                “Like hell I can’t!”

                Scott gave Derek a desperate look that was obviously a plea to help him stop Stiles before the tiger decided to make a snack out of him. The responding look was one of utter displeasure but Derek nodded and the two took off after Stiles, who could be surprisingly fast and tricky when he wanted to. Which was apparently now, because there was a tiger he had to pet.

                Every time one of them got close enough to grab him, Stiles would just duck out of their grasp. The run to the tiger exhibit was a long and exhausting one, and in the end Derek was just able to snag Stiles by his hoodie before he vaulted over the barrier.

                “You are a complete idiot.” He growled out, tossing Stiles back into Scott, who smacked him on the shoulder.

                “You can’t just go try to pet tigers, Stiles!”

                “This is Zombieland, Scott! There are no rules about not petting tigers in Zombieland!”

                “Yes there are! Look! The signs by the exhibit are still up!”

                Stiles huffed, righting himself from Scott. “Oh are they?!” He asked, stomping over and pulling the nearest sign off the wall, impressed with how easily it came off.

                Groaning, Scott went over and knocked the sign out of his hands. “You are four years old!”

                “That makes you four, too! Now let’s go pet that tiger!” Stiles said, starting to climb over the barrier again but Scott grabbed him, whining as he yanked Stiles back.

                “We’re going to get eaten. I was only prepared to be eaten by zombies! Not by hungry, unfed for who knows how long tigers!”

                Derek snorted derisively, shaking his head as he looked into the exhibit. “You’re both idiots. The tigers aren’t even in there anymore…”

                The two of them looked back at Derek in confusion, then into the exhibit once more; he was right. There was no sign of the animals anywhere, at all. Climbing off the barrier, Stiles sighed, looking at Scott as if he had a right to look sad now. “That was a big disappointment.”

                “And a lot of wasted cardio.” Scott glared.

                “You’re not cold anymore, are you?”

                Making an annoyed face, Derek tried to tune out their bickering as he glanced at the surrounding area, his expression back into his ‘mission’ mode as Stiles called it, obviously searching for whatever it was he needed so badly that happened to be at the zoo. “I should have left you both in Pennsylvania.” He muttered to himself, crouching down and examining the ground before standing again. 

                “Oh please, like you don’t want to pet the tiger!” Stiles replied, breaking off his argument with Scott.

                Derek simply gave him a withering look before walking off down the trail again, Scott and Stiles reluctantly following after. The good news, at least, was that even in their mad dash through the park, they hadn’t seen a single zombie so maybe the zoo was safe territory. Hopefully.

After a bit of walking back toward the entrance, Derek stopped, looking at them. “Go do whatever it is you dumbasses would normally do in this situation, meet me at the entrance in thirty minutes. And if you’re going to get eaten, don’t scream while you do. I don’t want you attracted zombies.”

                “Ha ha.” Stiles drawled, rolling his eyes before nudging Scott, wondering if they could go find any animals at all.  But Scott wasn’t looking at Stiles, or even Derek. Instead, he was staring off behind Derek with big eyes, and an expression that made Stiles look in that direction as well. What he saw was enough to mimic Scott’s expression on his own face and he swallowed a few times, trying to get words out. But somehow, they were getting stuck in his throat. 

                Derek simply stared at them like he couldn’t believe they could get any dumber and looked like he was about to turn around to walk away. It was another moment before Stiles was finally able to choke out words.

                “Derek… Derek behind you!” He said, with Scott helpfully pointing behind Derek, face screwed up in terror. 

                The man tensed, turning around to see a very hungry looking tiger slinking up behind him, obviously in predator mode. There was a growling sound and Stiles fumbled for his gun while Scott stood dumbstruck, but before he even had it up, the tiger was backing down. The strangest thing was that all Derek had done was take on a more threatening stance, leaning toward the tiger. If Stiles could see his face, Derek would probably have an intense glare on. But whatever look he had on his face, it was apparently enough as the tiger gave a sound before turning and slowly lopping off.

                Leaving Scott and Stiles, to gape like fish at each other, unsure of exactly what had just happened or how. 

                “Did you…. Did you just stare down that tiger?”

                Derek turned his head to look at them over his shoulder, giving what was probably the smuggest smirk he could manage as he turned in another direction. “Now. You two try not to get eaten. By zombie _or_ animal.” 

                And with that abrupt warning, he headed off in the direction he was facing, now looking to be concentrating deeply on something, though it wasn’t clear what. 

                “Should we try to follow him? Find out exactly what the hell he’s doing?”

                “We could do that….” Scott said, still a little shaken and not wanting to mess with Derek after that display, “Or we could make snow angels with the penguins.”

                “You’re right, Scott… where are my priorities? To the Arctic Circle!”

                The two of them ran off to the exhibit, in the opposite direction of Derek, and for the next half hour, they played in the snow with the animals like the idiots they were. Scott and Stiles were. Idiots. Not the animals. They were the smart ones. At any rate, they were back at the entrance just a few minutes late, out of breath and red in the face as they  found Derek standing there with a scowl.

                But that wasn’t anything unusual. The unusual thing was that, curled up around Derek’s shoulders, was a bright white arctic fox, staring at the two of them with big curious eyes, but not afraid at all.

                “Uh…. You came to get a snow fox?” Stiles asked, raising his eyebrow at the creature and wondering how soft it was.

                “No.” Derek grumbled, “It… found me… and won’t leave me alone now…”

                “How’d it get up on your shoulders?”

                “Are we taking it with us?”

                “Have you picked a name for it yet?”

                “Do you even know what snow foxes eat?”

                Derek shook his head, reaching up to pick the fox up and set it down on the ground easily. There was a moment’s pause before the fox used a tall bush nearby to bound back up to its perch on the glowering man’s shoulders. It made itself quite comfortable there and with a resigned frown, Derek turned and walked out of the entrance.

                “Let’s go.” He snapped irritably, leaving Stiles and Scott to follow after him, whispering and snickering to themselves about how whipped Derek apparently was. And how they thought maybe, the man actually wanted a pet but was trying to save face.

                “You know, you’re going to have to take care of him, Derek.” Stiles said, trying to sound like a parent giving their kid the responsibility talk. “Feed him, walk him, bathe him.”

                Scott snorted, grinning. “And pick up his poop!”

                Derek turned his head to glare at them, but the effect was lessened by the fluffy white tail that swished into his face. With a long suffering sigh, he just continued leading the other two back and trying to ignore the very fluffy fox on his shoulders.

                The walk back to where they’d left the car went a lot faster than their original tromp through the city, as they were taking a direct route. This was good because the sooner they got back to the car, the sooner they got to leave and Stiles was ready to take a long nap on the ride. What’s more, they hadn’t encountered so much as one zombie that day. It was practically unheard of!

                Except, their luck just couldn’t be that good, because as soon as the vehicle in question was in view, there was an extremely obvious problem: It was surrounded by the rotting undead.

                Immediately the group stopped in their walking, all hands going for or gripping weapons tighter. Even the fox looked tense, its fur sticking up on end as it tucked in closer to Derek. They all exchanged silent looks, each mentally calculating the number of zombies. 

                “We have to get them away from the car.” Scott said, pointing out the obvious after a moment of silent thought.

                “If you guys are willing to back me up… and you know, _not_ shoot me…” Stiles started, gripping his bat. He had absolutely no qualms whatsoever with being live bait so long as it stayed with him being bait and, you know, live. It had been a pretty good day and would suck to end with him getting chewed on.

                Scott looked like he was about to argue but Derek spoke first, not taking his eyes off the zombie horde. “Keep ahead of them and don’t get bitten. Be ready to jump in the car.”

                Grinning wildly, Stiles nodded, getting a bit of a crazy glint in his golden eyes. “Got it, man.” He said, before saluting at Scott. Somehow, he managed to muster the energy and took off in a dead sprint, yelling and flailing madly in the direction the cluster of zombies were.

                Of course, when all the zombies turned to run after him at once, his yelling turned into an honest shriek as if he hadn’t quite realized what this would entail. He recovered quickly enough to save some of his dignity, before leading the way on a wild goose chase.

                Scott and Derek didn’t waste a single second of their distraction, sprinting to the car, throwing the doors open and Scott diving in the backseat while Derek shoved one of his guns at the younger male.

                “Use this! It’s better for distance.” Derek said, starting the car and skidding away from the sidewalk, over the snow. Rolling the windows down, he took aim at the zombies, shooting a few while driving in the direction Stiles ran, Scott doing the same out the passenger window.

                Meanwhile, Stiles was still sprinting away from the zombies, glad that he was at least faster than them. Though it seemed like every time one of them got picked off by Derek or Scott, another two appeared out of nowhere. Which was entirely possible, them being attracted by sound and all. And then, as if being live bait hadn’t been awful enough, the ‘this couldn’t get worse’ happened, even without anyone saying it. 

                Stiles took a turn down what he thought was a side street, only to be met with a ten foot tall chain link fence at the end of an alley.

                “Oh holy fuck I’m going to die.”

                Still, he grabbed the fence with one hand, using the short advantage of distance he had on the zombies to climb as quickly as possible, trying to stay out of their reach as well as keeping a hold on his bat. Thankfully, it was only a moment before the Camaro slid into view.

                “A little help please?!” Stiles yelled, swinging at a zombie’s head as he tried to stay out of reach. They were piling up, climbing over each other just to get him and maybe if they weren’t flesh eating monsters, he could have enjoyed the moment of being wanted by so many people.

                Scott and Derek slid out of the car, guns a-blazin’ and trying to bring the zombies back their way. While some did turn and come at them, most still focused on Stiles and trying to get to him. When it became obvious this wasn’t going to work, Scott found a very frustrated looking – and maybe concerned? He couldn’t tell – Derek shoving the gun he was holding at him. 

                “Stay here. Keep shooting. Try not to hit me.” Were the last words from the leather clad man before he was charging into the fray, seemingly unarmed. 

                “Wha- Dude! _Dude!_ Oh my god! Are you fucking _crazy?!_ ”

                Stiles was having a very similar reaction at seeing Derek practically dive headfirst into a zombie pile, because if Stiles’s idea had been stupid, this had to be full blown moronic. Beyond moronic. It would seem that Derek had taken his brain out and left it somewhere.

                With Derek actually on the ground instead of clinging to a fence, most of the zombies turned their attention to him and soon it was impossible to see exactly where they ended and he started. Meanwhile, on the fence, Stiles was sure a full blown panic attack was about to come on because Derek had basically just given himself to death to save Stiles and Stiles wasn’t even in a position to get away. He could feel his chest tightening and his breaths coming short, when something started to happen.

                Left and right, Zombies started to fall, heads bloodied and a couple times the heads completely severed and rolling away, still chomping at the air, to which Scott would shoot them. Did Derek have a knife on him that Stiles and Scott hadn’t seen?

                Scott couldn’t see anything any better than Stiles but he continued shooting, taking out the zombies on the outside of the pile. He only stopped shooting once when one zombie was actually sent sailing over the car as if picked up and flung by an invisible force.

                After that, the rest of the zombies were quick to take down and Stiles even got a chance to jump down from the fence and help smash the last few zombies away from Derek, who was fighting like a champ in the middle of it all.

                “Derek! _Derek!_ ” Stiles yelled over the shrieks and screams and… growls? …. from the zombies. 

                The older male didn’t respond as he took out the final zombie, letting it fall to the ground, stilling and taking deep breaths.

                “Holy shit dude, are you okay?! Did any of them bite you?! Fuck you just charged into there and… now you’re going to turn and fuck I don’t want to have to kill you because you’re really fucking badass and you fucking saved my life!” Stiles continued jabbering away as he jogged over to look at Derek, but as soon as he was close, he froze and all sounds ceased.

                Derek was standing there, covered in blood and zombie bits – Stiles thought he saw a tooth stuck in the jacket’s collar – but that wasn’t what made him stop.

                No, it was definitely the claws, fangs, excessive looking sideburns, and glowing red eyes. Especially the glowing red eyes.

                There was pretty much only one thing to say in that moment.

                “Jesusfuck.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got one of the big reveals done this chapter, and I hope it doesn't seem too out of place.


	6. Is It Really That Hard For You To Believe? (Chicago)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is an early birthday present from me to... me? Haha, my birthday's Sunday so huzzah Zombie fic post before then. I know it's been a while, but I managed to post under three months for this one! Also, if there are any grammatical/spelling mistakes, it's all on me because my beta(s) have been busy and enjoying real life and I'm impatient and wanted to post.
> 
> I'm making a tumblr to go along with this fic: radioactivealpacalypse.tumblr.com. Not much is up there, but I will be posting the AO3 links for each chapter there as well as tossing some other goodies on there as I work.
> 
> Soooo yea! Here the next chapter is!

_“Jesusfuck.”_

Stiles thought it would probably be a good idea to back away right about now because holy shit that was _not_ normal. Not normal at all. But in true Stiles fashion, he couldn’t stop staring. It was still Derek – and rapidly becoming the Derek he knew and recognized by the second as the claws retracted and his face shifted – but somehow it was hard to reconcile Derek and fanged out Derek. The shift between the two was simultaneously the coolest and oddest thing to watch. It was like something out of Buffy and anyone who knew Stiles knew that he was a giant Buffy fan.

As confused as Stiles seemed to be about Derek and whatever he was – definitely not a vampire, if Buffy was reliable on that information – Derek seemed just as confused by the fact that Stiles was still standing no more than a foot away from him. In fact, he looked like he had expected Stiles to go running the second he saw him.

While Derek and Stiles were having their silent stare off, Scott was still at the Camaro, watching both of them. His gun was raised and Stiles belatedly noted that it was pointed right at Derek, as if Scott thought the older man was going to change back and attack Stiles. Which, while reassuring that Scott had his back, was absurd because hadn’t Derek just literally thrown himself into a pile of zombies to save Stiles?

            Taking a deep breath, Stiles reached up to scrub a hand through his hair. “Okay. We’ll… we’re going to talk about – “ He paused to gesture widely with shaking hands “– _that_ later. But before that, did you get bit? Because if you’re going to turn… I already said it once; I don’t want to have to kill you. You’re badass and totally just saved my life so that would be a sucky way to repay someone.

Derek’s confused expression deepened, and he frowned before shaking his head. “I’m not going to turn…”

“Right. You already turn… into… something. Cool. Then… can we like…. Get out here? Because I need a drink and it’d probably be better to be drunk on the road instead of in the city.”

With a half nod, Derek gestured awkwardly for Stiles to go to the car, and the younger male did. Walking carefully over the carcasses of a dozen or so zombies, Stiles reached Scott, clapping his friend on the shoulder and barely refraining from a full out clinging hug. He could already feel the adrenaline draining and anxious fear replacing it.

            The touch jolted Scott out of his reverie, jerking his gaze from Derek to Stiles. “You okay dude?”

Stiles gave him an assured nod which quickly turned into him shaking his head. “No… But I will be after some whiskey.”

Nodding, Scott glanced over at Derek, who was still standing where Stiles had left him, watching them both warily. “We’re still trusting him then?”

“I don’t see why not.” Stiles said, but his voice betrayed his uncertainty. “I mean, he just threw himself into a zombie pile to rescue my dumbass.”

Scott conceded that point with another nod, finally lowering the gun and moving to climb back into the car.  “Are we going to… talk about that whole thing?”

“Later. Much later. Possibly after two bottles of whiskey and a long nap followed by a hangover that will make me forget my name.”

It wasn’t until they had both climbed into the car that Derek moved, heading for the trunk. In the rearview mirror, Stiles could see Derek was awkwardly trying to pick zombie bits off of him – including the tooth in his jacket collar – before simply giving up and taking it off. Every so often he’d glance up at the car, almost looking like he was in disbelief that they were still going to travel with him. For some reason, that made Stiles uneasy. If he was a good monster and not a bad monster – or not a monster, but you know – then why would he be so surprised that they’d stay in his protection?

Tossing the jacket in the trunk, Derek took the time to change into a different shirt prior to climbing into the driver’s seat. Silently starting the car up, he backed out of the alley to turn down onto the main road again, which was thankfully empty.

Stiles and Scott were already passing the bottle between themselves and didn’t seem inclined to even ask any questions. At least not yet, and Derek looked almost grateful for that as he drove; he also didn’t look like he minded their incessant chatter or their increasingly drunk actions too much, and they did their best not to get too out of hand.

For the next several hours, they drove on; Scott and Stiles content together in their own world while Derek was in his. It was only when Scott’s chattered turned into a whining lament over one thing or another that Stiles decide to focus his attention on Derek with a big, drunk grin. “Soooo buddy! Where’re we headin’ now? Somewhere fun?”

His words weren’t slurred so much as they were slowed down from his usual speedy delivery and Derek made a face as the scent of alcohol hit him, nose scrunching and lip twitching just slightly.

“Chicago.” He grunted out, eyes flicking from the road to Stiles then back.

“Chicago? Pfffft… Chicago – _Chicago_ – is so… so two years ago.” Stiles said, before dissolving into a fit of snickers and hiccups, lifting the bottle in his hand once more.  In the backseat, Scott was letting out his own laughs and slumping in the seat as Stiles turned around to talk to him again.

Derek sighed deeply and shook his head; this was going to be an even more interesting drive. And by interesting, he definitely meant painfully obnoxious and likely to make him shoot himself in the face. Another sigh and he rolled the window down a bit, trying to escape the overwhelming smell of whiskey.

It seemed that his prediction was coming true quicker than he imagined, as just another half hour had passed and the two were already drunk messes, progressively getting worse. If they had their way, they wouldn’t be done drinking any time soon. Derek took matters into his own hand, pulling over to demand all the remaining alcohol from the two and tossing the almost empty bottles out the window.

            He had to pull over again after only fifteen minutes to take _another_ bottle from Stiles, who had snickered loudly before pulling it out of his backpack. This prompted Derek to take another fifteen minutes to search the car for any other hidden bottles until he was satisfied enough to get back on the road. But of course that wasn’t the end of it.

            Twenty minutes later, Derek was steering the car with one hand, holding Stiles by the back of his hoodie with the other while yelling at Scott to stop screaming. Stiles had decided that, with the car going at least seventy, it was the best time to open the door and climb out to pee. It didn’t help that they passed a small commune of the undead, who of course were going to follow the only thing moving.

Later, when they were sober enough to understand again, Derek was definitely going to implement a No Drinking until Shitfaced Drunk rule. Possibly even a No Drinking At All rule, because whatever help he thought he was getting from these two would definitely not be worth it if they continually did stupid things like this and made the trip much longer than it should have been. In this state, if they were attacked, they’d be no help to him and entirely a hindrance.

Because of Stiles nearly diving out of the car, Derek pulled over once again, barking at Scott and Stiles to get out, pee and then get back into the car. Somehow not surprisingly, even after his attempted escape, Stiles shook his head. Of course he’d be difficult.

“Nooooo. I don’t want to break the seal!”

“The… what?” Derek asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Scott looked up from where he’d been struggling to undo his jeans and gasped. “Oh god, I almost broke the seal!”

“Scott noooo!”

            “What the hell are you two buffoons talking about?!”

            “The seal, Derek. _The seal!_ You break the seal, you’ll be pissing all day and night!”

            Derek looked grumpily confused but shook his head, growling at them. “Go. Piss. Now.”

            Stiles huffed, muttering profanities before trudging over to the side of the road, while Scott just whined and did the same. They relieved themselves with minimal goofing off, which made Derek suspicious but simultaneously glad because it meant getting back in the car and leaving faster.

A drive which should take about ten or so hours with zombie traffic conditions was already nearing the eight hour mark and they were barely passed the halfway point to the next destination.

            He gave them a few more moments before telling them to get back in the car, which Scott did with no trouble. However, it seemed that Stiles’s ADHD and overall annoying levels only got worse with alcohol consumption, and Derek soon found himself wasting another fifteen minutes chasing Stiles around a field while the boy warbled “The Hills Are Alive”, loudly and very off-key.

            The chase ended with Derek catching the boy by his collar, all but carrying him back to the car, tossing him into the passenger seat, and locking the door. Circling the car, Derek slid in, shooting Stiles a withering glare when he reached for the lock. One look at Derek and the younger man was withdrawing his hand, buckling his seatbelt quietly.

            With an expression that clearly stated he was mentally killing Scott and Stiles – violently – Derek once more started the car up, speeding off down the road.

For the most part, the remainder of the drive was much better than the beginning. They only stopped twice after that; once for them to pee again because of their “seals being broken” and once to let Scott out so he didn’t vomit all over the back seat of the Camaro.

            In the end, it took a total of thirteen and a half hours to reach Chicago, leaving them with only an hour before nightfall. Scott and Stiles were considerably more sober as they drove into the city – though still not at all near a competent level – and they luckily did not need to do any car moving maneuvers here; they would never have made it if they did.

The look on Derek’s face spoke volumes; he was determined to go after whatever it was his mission in life pertained to, and Stiles had to hold up his hand in protest.

            “Oh no you don’t.” He said, despite the fact it hurt to even think, much less talk. “We… are going to find a place to stay. And I… am going to sleep until my brain doesn’t feel like it’s throbbing out of my skull.”

            “It’s not my fault you drank.”Derek replied, giving him a flat look.

            “Oh but it is!” Stiles protested, struggling to sit up straight and groaning slightly because that made his headache worse, but he wasn’t going to give in so easy. “You… you turned into some kind of freaky-deaky creature that is apparently immune to zombie bites and stronger than normal people, with claws and fangs and glowing eyes! I _had_ to drink because otherwise I’d realize that there are more monsters out there then I originally thought and there’d be a whole lot more freaking out than there is right now!”

            Okay, so maybe yelling at Derek while the beginnings of his hangover edged in wasn’t the smartest move. Not only because it made his head pound, but also because he’d managed to call the man both a ‘freaky-deaky creature’ AND a monster in less than thirty seconds. If the way Derek’s eyebrows were dipping down so low as to meet in the middle that was probably the worst thing he could say.

The scowl on his face also pointed in the direction of Stiles being out of line. But even that couldn’t deter his mouth, which insisted upon running off without him, his brain chasing after with no way to fix the words that came out.

“I mean… what the hell are you even?! Your face changed completely and I’ve already mentioned your stupid glowy eyes! You can’t be a vampire; they don’t go out in the sun _at all_. But you’ve got fangs and claws and some crazy ass sideburns. You’re always freakin’ growly…. It’s like you’re some sort of an animal. Like a wolf or something!” Stiles paused in his ranting as everything he said came together, his eyes widened comically huge as he looked at Derek, voice quiet. “Like _a werewolf._ But… no… That’s too fucking crazy! That's like monster movies and shit, not real. Totally not real. Werewolves aren’t real! Things like that just aren’t. Real.”

There was an edge of panic to Stiles words, but Derek simply snorted.

“You’ve spent the past couple of months using a _baseball bat_ to bash in the heads of _zombies._ ” He stated, making a point because zombies were monster movies too.

            But Stiles gave a little flail, shaking his head and going green for a moment but still continuing. “Yea but… no… That’s different. Totally different. Illness caused that. Werewolves. That’s crazy… right? C’mon, Derek… _tell_ me that’s crazy.” He pleaded.

Derek’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, and that was enough of an answer for Stiles. “No no no no no. You can’t be a werewolf. You just… But… oh my god. Fangs. Claws. Growling. The impressive amount of strength you displayed in Pittsburgh. Your super fast reflexes. And then… that night in the car… I heard…. _Oh my god_ , were you outside _howling?!_ ”

Sitting in his seat, Stiles felt his chest tighten because holy hell, not only were zombies real but _werewolves_. And there was one sitting right next to him. He dug his fingers into his thighs, breath coming a little labored and heart thundering in his chest.

“Stiles, you need to calm down…” Derek warned, looking torn between concern and frustration, but that only made a hysterical laugh bubble out of Stiles’s throat.

“Oh? What? Can you _hear_ my heart beat? Oh fuck, you _can_ can’t you? Shit. You can hear everything. Can you smell everything too? Because I think I just shit my pants and it’d be nice for confirmation!”

Derek snapped his mouth shut and the two of them sat there in a tense silence as they continued to drive along, not saying or even looking at each other; Stiles having a breakdown and Derek quite possibly doing his own version of the same.

Then there came a little giggle from the backseat.

“Freaky-deaky… Werewoof.”

Stiles groaned, letting his head fall and hit the dashboard with a resounding thud, which turned out to be a remarkably stupid thing as his headache flared up and made itself known once more. Another, more pained groan came out and he raised an arm, waving it weakly. “Just find us somewhere to sleep for the night or I’m going to…. I don’t know what… but it won’t be pretty.

Without an argument – Stiles surmised Derek was still dealing with Stiles’s freak out – Derek turned down a street, looking for somewhere that seemed relatively safe and tucked away. In the end, they stumbled across a hotel that was – very surprisingly – still lit up. Like, all lit up. Lights in windows, the lobby bright and inviting.

It was almost too easy, but at this point Stiles couldn’t give any less fucks. He just wanted to get out of the car, possibly puke a little, and go to sleep. Derek at least had the sense not to argue, no matter how wary he seemed, and he was at least willing to stay there. But only after he checked it out to make sure there were no zombies around.

Stiles at least agreed to that, and he stood at the car, watching as Derek circled the whole building. And maybe he was imagining it, but Derek might have been taking the phrase “sniff out danger” a little too literally. Whatever helped him sleep at night. Stiles’s job right now was to make sure Scott didn’t try to crawl off, and he was pretty sure he had the harder job.

By the time Derek finished his perimeter inspect and arrived back at the car to give Stiles a nod for 'All Clear', Stiles's headache had risen to an eleven on a scale from one to ten. Scott was no help because when he wasn’t snoring like a congested bear, he was awake and causing trouble. By now, Stiles was seriously contemplating drinking more just so the hangover would stop. Especially since he was fairly certain he was still a little over half drunk which meant this wasn't even the worst, and that thought was _not_ helpful at all.

Jumping back in the car, Derek found a place to park that was accessible but wouldn't leave them in need of a repeat from Detroit.  He turned the car off and grabbed his duffel with no conversation. And if Stiles had been sober, he might have noticed Derek didn’t even look at him now. However, he was handling his hangover, and was just glad when Derek grabbed Scott from the backseat, hoisting him to his feet and helping him walk, leaving Stiles to just handle their backpacks.

            Derek was insistent on going straight up to some room as soon as they were inside the hotel. Stiles, however, even though he wanted to sleep, felt it was too unusual for an entire hotel to be all lit up like that without anyone inside. In fact, he thought it’d be best to stop by the front desk and see if anyone was in. His reasoning was that, at the very least, they wouldn’t get shot later by some survivor who thought they were zombies.

Begrudgingly, Derek let them stop at the front desk, Stiles looking around while Derek did his best to deal with the slap happy Scott who was draped over his shoulders.

"Hello?" Stiles called out, looking around and leaning on his bat for support. "Anyone here?"

"Let's just go, no one's here." Derek groused, mostly annoyed because Scott had started to drool on him and he was of the opinion that should stop as soon as possible.

"No, dude, we're going to let whoever know we're here so I don't wind up shot through." Stiles said, all but climbing over the counter to find the desk's bell and ringing it. "Hel~lo?"

Noises came from the back room and Stiles smirked smugly back at Derek. "See? Told you someone was here..."

He had just barely turned back to the desk, when a zombie came hurtling through the door way and over the front counter. In any other situation his expression and reaction would have been hilarious – and looking back at it later, it was at least still amusing here – because his immediate response was a certain amount of startled flailing, resulting to the baseball bat in his hand ending up smashing the zombie’s head in. And because of a certain level of freaking out, he may or may not have hit the unmoving zombie five more times before turning, wide-eyed and shocked, to look back at Derek.

"Don't say anything... Just... don't. Let's go find a room."

Derek let out a snort, having just recovered from his shocked expression, before adjusting Scott – who hadn’t noticed a thing – and leading the way down the hall, to the stairs. According to the explanation that Stiles vaguely heard around his pounding headache, if they were on the second floor they could still use the window as an escape route, but they wouldn’t be at the mercy of any zombies just wandering in on the ground level. It seemed reasonable at least.

Or it did, until Derek simply kicked a room’s door in and any sort of security a closed door would afford them was lost. When Stiles started to voice that, Derek gave him a look as if to say ‘How else were we getting in?’

Grumbling, Stiles wandered over to one of the beds, flopping down face first as soon as he reached it. Whatever was keeping all the power on in the hotel also seemed to have the heating on and it felt heavenly, even with his head ready to explode. Derek all but threw Scott on the bed next to Stiles, dropping his duffel on the other bed. He moved the dresser in front of the door - giving Stiles a little more peace of mind - before heading into the bathroom, apparently to clean up.

Which sounded like a splendid idea, actually and if Stiles hadn't been so sure the world would tilt if he tried to get up, he would have gone to see if the shower had hot water. But right now all that mattered was closing his eyes and getting some sleep. He was half way to dreamland when he was being tapped on the head and he blearily glared up at Derek. The older man - werewolf? man... - was standing there with a cup of water and what looked to be some aspirin. Where he’d gotten aspirin, Stiles had no clue but he gratefully took the pills and swallowed them dry, gulping the water down as an afterthought.

He watched as Derek did the same for Scott, who mumbled a few nonsensical things as he was forced to take the pills. Finishing with them, Derek went about checking the windows for security and then taking the other bed as his own, throwing his legs up on the comforter, eyes closing as he settled.

Stiles’s first instinct was to object, but as he began to protest that someone needed to watch the door, Derek simply said, "Sleep. I've got this."

And somehow, that was all the boy needed to push himself to sleep, his entire body willing to give up that aching for beautiful unconsciousness.

When he woke up the next day, there were three things he noticed. One, the room was chillier than it had been when he fell asleep. Two, Derek was absolutely nowhere to be seen and it looked like he hadn’t been there in a while. The final thing was that Scott was drooling all over his own pillow as well as Stiles’s, and he was still sleeping like a baby. The lucky bastard.

Rubbing his head, that was luckily down to a dull roar of a headache from the previous night, Stiles sat up and looked toward the window, which was open and letting the cold air in as well as the blinding sunlight. He had absolutely no clue what time it was or how long they'd been out, but judging by the position of the sun, it'd been a good while and it was passed noon now.

He stretched then slid out of the bed, shuffling to the window with the intent to close it because he was fucking cold, when he found himself face to face with Derek who was literally – and he meant literally – scaling the side of the building using his claws. Stiles blinked a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t simply imagining it, before taking a step back and to the side as Derek slid into the room, both of them just staring blankly at the other.

The blank-stare-off continued even as Stiles leaned over to shut the window, never taking his eyes off of Derek. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say after all of that but apparently his mouth had its own ideas to put into action.

“So… still a werewolf then…”

Derek just stared at Stiles, his only response being a strange dance of eyebrows, ending in an unreadable expression as he nodded.

“Right… Okay then.” Stiles paused then turned, shuffling over to sit at the foot of the bed Derek claimed for himself. Derek watched Stiles for a moment before following to sit as well, not entirely sure what the younger male would have to say.

“So how long have you… had this condition?” Stiles asked, looking at Derek who rolled his eyes at the wording, but blessedly relaxed a little.

“I was born a wolf.”

            “Like… born a wolf and then turned to a werewolf human thing?” Stiles asked, receiving a look that clearly stated Derek thought he was a giant idiot. Which wasn’t true, not entirely anyway.

            “I was born a _were_ wolf.” Derek clarified, “And it’s not going to go away.”

            Stiles nodded, fidgeting, “So… full moons and stuff? And what about that zombie bite that… wasn’t?”

            Derek rolled his eyes again, and at least that was familiar, “I can heal at an accelerated pace and-… Look, I’ll explain later but not until Scott wakes up because I’m not repeating myself.”

            Without waiting for a reply, he stood and headed for the bathroom, making Stiles realize that his bladder was really full. Naturally, the only thing to do was jump off the bed and sprint ahead of Derek, giving a satisfied smirk at the surprised expression on Derek’s face when Stiles slammed the bathroom door on him.

            When he exited the bathroom ten minutes later – it _did_ have hot water and he was taking full advantage of that later – Scott had obviously woken up and realized how awful an idea being awake was. His head was buried under a pillow and little pitiful sounds of pain were coming from it.

            Derek, who was staring at Scott like _he_ was turning into something, looked grateful that the bathroom was now empty as he shut himself inside, leaving Stiles to deal with his hung over best friend. A bottle of water and some aspirin where the best he could do as he sat down beside Scott, handing them over and receiving a miserable sound as a thanks.

            It was a few more minutes before Scott could actually speak, and when he did, he looked at Stiles.

            “So… I think I dreamed this up, but I remember someone saying Derek was a werewolf.”

            “That happened.”

            “So he’s actually…?”

            “Yep.”

            “Holy shit.”

            “ _Yep.”_

            “Why are you not freaking out more?”

            “Because I don’t think it’s fully hit me yet.” Stiles admitted, looking over at Scott. “He said he’d explain it to us… But I don’t even know if I want to know.”

            Scott nodded slowly, frowning and Stiles could see the thoughts turning in the other male’s head. “Do you think we should find somewhere else to go? Get a car and drive ourselves?”

            “I don’t know man… He’s been pretty chill and hasn’t tried to attack us, I just feel a little…”

            “Unnerved?” Scott supplied, before nodding in agreement. “Even in the middle of a zombie apocalypse… It seems like a pretty dangerous idea to travel with a werewolf… I mean, what if he snaps and just like… tears us apart with his claws and fangs? And what about full moon? You’ve seen the movies, Stiles…”

            “Well gee, when you put it that way Scott…” Stiles drawled sarcastically, blanching at the very vivid image his mind supplied. He had seen the movies, millions of times, and it never ended well for the human victims.

            “I’m just saying, maybe we should find another way out west…”

            Stiles nodded, before shaking his head in amusement. “Man, weren’t you just preaching about how we should trust him not to kill us at any moment?”

            “Yea, but that was before I knew he was some kind of freaky as fuck monster with glowing eyes and sharp teeth and… fucking _claws._ ”

“Well… yea but… Hey, if we stayed with him, I might get my dramatic death.” Stiles said, trying to lighten the situation a bit.

Scott just shot him a look, shaking his head. “Dude, we’re supposed to become zombies together, not become puppy chow.”

Their conversation didn’t go any further as Derek came out of the bathroom, looking like he’d washed up quite a bit. He didn’t so much as glance at the two on the bed before going to his duffel bag, finding a small leather bound book and pulling it out.

            Stiles watched curiously, but couldn’t see what Derek was doing as he turned his back on them, a moment later replacing the book in the bag and zipping it up.

            “There’s hot water so if you two want to shower, do it now and do it quickly.” Derek said, still not looking at them, instead climbing into the bed and shutting his eyes.

            Curious about Derek’s actions, Stiles exchanged a look with Scott before the two played rock-paper-scissors for the first opportunity to use the shower; Stiles won and he got up, heading for the bathroom. He was damn well going to get his shower with scalding hot water; that was a definite and no human, zombie, or werewolf could stop him.

            He showered for as long as he dared, and it felt so nice to be clean again, an opinion he voiced upon exiting the bathroom. Scott all but barreled into him to get into the bathroom for his own shower, and as soon as the water turned on, there was a crow of pleasure from the other male. Chuckling, Stiles managed to find where he’d thrown his backpack the previous night, pulling out clothes to change into.

            “Nothing like clean clothes on clean skin, amiright?” He commented happily as soon as he was dressed, looking over at Derek who was apparently sleeping and wasn’t going to agree with him on that. It made him wonder if the older man had gotten any sleep at all last night. Then it hit him that – no… Derek probably didn’t sleep because he and Scott were drunk and passed out and someone needed to keep watch, no matter how safe the little room felt.

A wave of guilt washed over him but he pushed it away; there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it now and for all he was certain of, they might not even be travelling with Derek after today.

Pulling out a pack of pop tarts from his backpack, Stiles sat down against the wall, eating slowly and silently watching Derek. He was curious; after all, how often is it that not one but two old school horror monsters are confirmed as real? And at least he and Scott seemed to be on the same page of not knowing how to handle this. It wasn’t that Derek had displayed any truly bad qualities – outside of being a dick about the radio, the heat, the talking… – but still, years of monster movie marathons made it really hard to trust anything that wasn’t human. Especially when they were living out the zombie apocalypse.

He guessed they’d see what would happen next.

            Another ten minutes passed before Scott exited the bathroom, looking considerably less hung over, and if Stiles wasn’t mistaken, he’d even shaved bit. Stiles seemed cursed with an inability to grow facial hair while Scott excelled at it. Including that time with the mustache that they swore they’d never speak of again.

            Scott changed into fresh clothes, making an expression that mirrored Stiles’s earlier sentiments, before grabbing a pack of pop tarts for himself and settling down beside his friend.

            “So… now what do we do?” He asked Stiles, words muffled around the pop tart.

            “I guess… I guess we just keep going?” Stiles said, before starting when Derek spoke.

            “There’s a survivor cell in town. I found them and they seem stable. I’ll drop you two off there and whatever you do after that is up to you.”

            Blinking, Stiles went to argue against it, stopping mid-syllable and frowning. _Why_ did he want to argue against it? They owed Derek no real loyalty, just like he owed them none, so even if they agreed to travel farther, it was really up to Derek if he took them with him.

Except, Stiles had definitely saved Derek’s ass once and Derek had more than saved his, and even if it had only been a few days – which, when he got thinking, it had really only been five days since they met but it felt like so much longer – he felt like they were a good team so why would Derek be in the mood to just drop them?

            Then it hit him, and he felt a new swell of guilt seep through him. Derek had heard everything. Scott and his conversation about him, and how they weren’t sure they wanted to stay with him. How they thought he was some sort of monster who was going to kill them at any second, even though he had numerous chances before. Shit.

_Shit._

            Glancing over at Scott, Stiles could tell his friend hadn’t connected the dots yet – and maybe he wouldn’t be _he_ didn’t know about the super hearing – and instead, he just looked like a confused puppy being told to sleep outside.

            There was no time to share his realization – or even do it in a way that Derek wouldn’t hear – before the older male was up, grabbing his things in a way that said Scott and Stiles should follow suit. They scrambled to their feet, attempting to shove everything back into their backpacks while pulling their shoes on. Derek was already pushing the dresser out of the way and walking out of the room before Stiles even had one shoe on.

            They stumbled after Derek, not wanting to get left behind, even if they were just going to get dropped off with some random strangers who were at least human; they hoped.

Derek didn’t even speak to either of them the entire walk down to the car – not even when Scott shot a zombie down the hall or when Derek took another two out with Stiles’s help at the front of the hotel out. By now Stiles had learned he wasn’t necessarily the most talkative person, but this was less than his normal silence. This was something colder.

            Stiles insisted on taking the backseat when they all got into the Camaro, because he didn’t want to sit next to Derek and have him not say anything, while Scott was still blissfully oblivious. Except then Stiles got to thinking and he realized that Derek might think he was avoiding him even more because he thought he was a monster, and shit, had it always been this difficult dealing with people and their feelings?

            The car’s clock read four thirty two, which meant they’d slept for much longer than he’d originally thought, but at least _he_ felt well rested. Fuck. He needed to stop making himself feel guilty over Derek-things. Who cared that the guy was really attractive and had taken them in when they needed help and had saved them both, and had practically sacrificed himself – except not really a sacrifice when he wouldn’t turn – so that Stiles wouldn’t get bitten? Who cared that he had a lot more going on than Stiles originally thought and he had already been anticipating a long drive, but now it’d be all alone and dammit, the zombie apocalypse was _not_ the time to develop a crush, no matter how rugged, attractive, and heroic the guy was!

            Stiles internal monologue which thankfully stayed internal – he didn’t need that embarrassment right now – took up the entire drive to the location of the survivor cell. A whole twenty eight minutes, as now the time was just changing to five o’clock. They pulled over in front of a large building, which looked like a holding facility of some sort, but any distinguishing signs were long gone.

            “They’re in there. I’ll wait until you make an agreement with them and then you can come grab your things so I can go.” Derek said, pointedly not looking at either of them.

            Frowning, Stiles nodded and nudged Scott out, the two grabbing their weapons and backpacks, heading up to the building cautiously. The front of this one was definitely boarded up and blocked off, a good sign considering how Pittsburgh had ended.

            After a moment, Scott knocked, making sure it sounded like a knock and not some zombie slamming against the door. “Hello? Human survivors out here! We haven’t been bitten or anything!”

            The two of them waited for several minutes before a suspicious looking man opened a small window, studying them before demanding. “What do you want?!”

            “Um… we’d like to talk to you about maybe staying with you all for a bit until we can get ourselves together to leave?” Scott said.

            “We’re not taking anyone else in!”

            The boys exchanged a look, frowning before Stiles said, “Look, we don’t need any of your supplies, we have our own, we just need a place to stay where we’ve got back up.”

            It was a moment or two of the man eyeing them from his window, before closing it and opening the door. “Fine. Come in and talk to the council.”

            Another look, and Scott and Stiles both nodded, entering slowly.

            “Weapons and bags by the door and don’t try any stupid shit.” The man said, closing the door up behind them and pointing to a corner. As they dropped their things, he raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t look like a lot of supplies.”

            “That’s not all of it. We don’t carry it everywhere, that’d be dumb.” Stiles snorted. “Someone’s watching it for us until he leaves.”

            The guy eyed them suspiciously, taking note while motioning them further inside. The inside was much like the outside, which was to say it wasn’t exactly homey but at least it was clean and didn’t look like there’d been any zombies in here, which was definitely good news. Scott and Stiles followed their guide further inside to a back room, where about six men were sitting around the table, talking in hushed tones. They fell silent as they entered.

            “Who was it Mike?”

            “Two kids. Looking for a place to stay. They say they’ve got supplies.” Their guide, who was apparently named Mike, relayed. He gave a small head nod back at the two of them and Stiles gave a tentative wave.

            “Heeey. Yea. We just need a place to stay until we can find a working car to drive ourselves out west.”

            “If you don’t have a car, how’d you get here?” A man with short, light brown hair asked.

            “We had a ride but we’re parting ways due to… differences.”

            “And where’s he?”

            “Waiting outside with our supplies until we got the go ahead to stay.” Stiles replied.

            The men all exchanged glances, which made Stiles feel uneasy, like they were all planning something.

            “Well, kiddo, seems like you’ve been pretty lucky up until now. Sadly, your luck is about to run out.”

            Stiles really wanted to comment on how that was just about the most cliché thing anyone could say, when he realized that this wasn’t a movie he was watching, and the men at the table were drawing guns. His heart skipped a beat and he swallowed, stepping back, Scott moving with him.

            “Look fellas, we uh… we’ll just go, okay? Get out of here and forget we were even here… Let you get back to your little council meeting?”

            Mike moved in behind them, pressing guns to their backs and Stiles heard Scott swear under his breath. He knew exactly what he friend was thinking, too. They had been much safer with a freaking werewolf than they were surrounded by humans. Fucking humans.

            The man who had been speaking – apparently the leader – stood slowly, a deranged grin spreading over his face as he leveled his gaze on Stiles. “We really wish we could, but you see… we’re running out of supplies of our own, and you just told us you have supplies. So we’re going to be liberating them from you. Unfortunately, that means we have to kill you, because we’ve got too many mouths to feed.”

Was this guy really giving the villain’s monologue to them? Because Stiles had always assumed that only happened in movies. Then again, he’d also assumed zombies and werewolves weren’t real, so basically everything he knew was screwed up. And now he was going to die before he got to figure out what was real and what wasn’t.

 “Mike, go tell their friend they’re staying here and get their supplies.”

Stiles started to object, but a gun was pointed right in his face as Mike left, and he and Scott were held at gunpoint. Hopefully Derek would find it strange that they didn’t come out for their own things and come save the day. He wasn’t as cold-hearted as he pretended to be, and Stiles had a lot of faith in his heroic abilities.

That lasted all of five minutes as Mike came back with one of their tubs with supplies; by all means, it wasn’t all of them but it was definitely theirs.

“He’s gone. Tore outta here like a bat outta hell in his fancy ass car.” Mike said gleefully, raising the tub. “And they’ve got a decent bit of food and water in here!”

Stiles’s heart began to jack rabbit, because apparently Derek _was_ completely done with them and now they were going to die. Hell, he couldn’t even find anything smart-assed to say, and shit, this was really it.

The same thoughts were running through Scott’s head, if his expression was anything to go by. Swallowing, Stiles closed his eyes at the sound of guns cocking, a pray running through his head. It’d been a nice dream, Derek saving them and then they get to go home. But the guy here was right; they had been pretty lucky until now, and luck was always destined to run out.

There was a crash from the front of the building, and everyone looked at each other in confusion. A few of the men looked pale, and there were murmurs of a potential zombie break in.

“Mike. Donavon. Go check it out.”

The two guys hesitated, before pulling off, heading for the front while the leader and one of the others kept their guns trained on Stiles and Scott. Apparently, if there was a zombie break in, they weren’t worth the bullets.

“Jimmy, there’s nothing out he-…” The sound of Mike’s voice was cut off by a shriek and a couple of gunshots. The remaining men in the room turned their guns toward the dark entry way.

            Everything was quiet, and then Stiles heard it; a low, deep growl followed by a flash of red. His heart sped up, at first out of fear and then realizing.

            “Derek!”

            Said man walked into the room, glaring at the remaining men, knocking out the first two to step toward him, grabbing their guns and tossing them back to Stiles and Scott, who were grateful to be armed again.

            Without waiting, the leader – Jimmy apparently – opened fire on Derek, who already looked pissed off at having to come save Scott and Stiles. The new wounds only seemed to further his anger and he took it out on the last two henchmen as Jimmy backed up.

“Who the hell are you?!” He demanded, clearly frightened because what sort of man could take at least two bullets and keep moving like it was nothing?

            Stiles watched as Derek advanced on Jimmy, knocking the gun out of his hand. “That’s our friend… I should’ve warned you he was a little violent.”

            Jimmy didn’t even have time to respond before Derek was knocking him unconscious against the wall, dropping him to the floor.

            “Move. Now.” Derek said, pushing the two of them to the door, pulling a bullet out of his arm then grabbing their tub of supplies as they went.

            “Oh my god you just saved our asses… _again!_ ” Stiles exclaimed, holding back from hugging Derek like he wanted to because, seriously, their hero, he deserved hugs. Even if he did look like he’d use his human nails to rip Stiles’s face off if he tried.

            “Just keep moving!” His head was cocked to the side, apparently listening to something, and Stiles barely bit back a dog joke.

            They moved quicker now, stopping to grab their bags and get out when Derek yelled at them. “Get down!”

            Whether it was years of lessons from his dad or just good survival instincts, the command had Stiles grabbing Scott and the two of them hit the floor just as a gun went off. Derek let out a pained snarl, but spun around and fired his own gun, taking out Mike, who he apparently hadn’t knocked out hard enough to keep him down.

            Stiles looked up to see dark stains blossoming through the back of Derek’s jeans on his right leg, and the man seemed to stumble, unable to put pressure on it. Scrambling to his feet, he reached out to grab Derek’s arm and pull it over his shoulder.

“You’re not healing?” He asked, though it may have come out as more of a statement.

Derek cursed, trying to put pressure on the leg before shaking his head. “I can’t heal when something’s still in the wound. It’ll just reopen itself again.” He snapped.

“Right. To the car!” Stiles said, turning to find Scott grabbing their things and standing, looking for an explanation but Stiles just pointed outside. He wasn’t waiting for any of the other guys to come back and try to kill them, or for zombies to show up.

Pulling Derek out of the doors, he was and wasn’t surprised to see the door pretty much demolished and he let out an impressed whistle as he continued out to the car.

“Scott, in the backseat, Derek, keys. And don’t try to argue. You can’t walk, so by default, you can’t drive. Now in the car!”

Scott scrambled into the backseat as expected, pulling the supplies in and tucking them away. But what surprised Stiles was when Derek just handed him the keys without a word, pulling away to limp into the passenger’s seat.

Shaking off the shock, Stiles had barely slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine when some of the men ran outside, brandishing their weapons. Peeling out, Stiles sped away from the curb as they started firing, flooring it. He didn’t even want to think about Derek’s reaction if he let this beautiful car get shot.

It wasn’t until they were well away from the survivor cell and on the road out of town that Stiles even chanced a glance over at Derek. Only to find he probably should’ve stuck to staring at the road because Derek was using his claws to pick out the little pellets from under his skin. “Alright, should have warned me because that’s just… I’m going to have nightmares for days now…”

Derek snorted, just continuing his work, flicking the pellets out the open window as Stiles focused on the road again. “So uh… thanks… for saving our asses… How did you even know?”

“I could tell something was wrong.” He replied, giving no more explanation and was that a werewolf thing? Because Stiles would like to know now if werewolves were psychic.

“Well… thanks.”

“Seriously, dude. Thank you.” Scott added, leaning forward slightly.

Derek paused before nodding and silence fell over the car, both Scott and Stiles unsure of what to say now.

Ten minutes of driving passed, and Stiles glanced over at Derek again, glad to see he was no longer tearing at his own flesh. In fact, it looked all but healed now through the hole in his jeans, and Stiles definitely wanted to know about that. But right now there was a more important issue. “So… uh… I guess this means… you’re sort of stuck with us now? Because after that, I think we’re much safer with you.“

“Not afraid I’ll snap and tear you apart?” Derek asked in a light tone but there was tension behind it as he leveled Stiles with a look.

Scott and Stiles had the grace to both look ashamed at that, or at least as ashamed as anyone could look at being caught talking about someone.

“Sorry… seriously… We were just… freaked a little.” Scott supplied after an awkward pause.

Stiles nodded in agreement, “I mean, I’m pretty sure now that you’re not likely to rip our faces off or anything without us really warranting it. Though I’m not sure what would warrant face ripping or anything but…”

Stiles trailed off as Derek glared at him to shut up, but it lasted all of a minute before his need to fill any silence with mindless chatter became too much.

“So back on the road… the three amigos, three musketeers, and all that!” Stiles said, whipping his head around as Scott shrieked in the backseat, making the car almost swerve off the road. Derek voiced his displeasure, yanking the steering wheel to right it.

“What?!” Stiles cried out, making sure the car was driving straight again.

“There was a noise! In the trunk!” Scott said, flipping around and staring as if a zombie was going to burst through the seat.

Derek turned in his seat, alert and staring toward the trunk. His eyes narrowed for a moment, listening intently, before he rolled his eyes with a huff. “Open it.”

“What?!”

“I said open it.”

Scott looked uneasy and Stiles was tempted to pull over to the side, but if Derek thought it was okay. Well, he at least hoped Derek wouldn’t let a zombie eat his best friend.

Cautiously, Scott pulled his seat down just enough to peer into the trunk, and let out another shriek as a ball of white bounced out, smacking squarely into his face. Another moment and it proceeded to hop into the front seat and stop in Derek’s lap, much to the werewolf’s displeasure.

“I see we have a stowaway.” Stiles said around his laughter at Scott, looking over at the fox that seemed to have followed them from Detroit. Derek just let out an annoyed sound, leaning back in the seat and glaring at the animal but doing nothing to move it.

“Just another annoyance…”

Stiles smirked, “But he just wants your love, Derek. Why can’t you be a good father?”

Derek glared daggers at Stiles while the foxed chirruped, making itself comfortable.

“Just shut up and drive.”


End file.
